


Drowning Out the Universe

by evelynegrey, fortunefavorsthebrave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Clone Wars, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6519232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynegrey/pseuds/evelynegrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunefavorsthebrave/pseuds/fortunefavorsthebrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You wanna buy some death sticks?"<br/>Harry glances to the side, noticing a man having sidled up to him, his skin so pale it's almost luminescent under the artificial lights.<br/>"You don't want to sell me death sticks," Harry says absently, waving his hand and turning back to his, admittedly suspicious looking, drink.<br/>"And why wouldn't I wanna do that?"<br/>Harry frowns, momentarily confused as he turns to look at the stranger again, dressed like most capital humans in black with his hair pulled back from his face, sharp features and eyes like Adegan crystals.<br/>"You want to go home and rethink your life," Harry insists, putting proper thought into the command this time as he gives another wave of his hand.<br/>The stranger laughs in his face, mimicking Harry's gesture with more flair than necessary. "What, you think you're a Jedi or something?"</p><p>Star Wars AU where the clone wars are raging across the galaxy, Harry's struggling to stay on his path, and Louis seems destined to cross it. The struggle doesn't get any easier after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the vastness of the Star Wars universe, we've tried to limit ourselves slightly by basing most of the facts on the films. Though extensive research has gone into this work, we've also used our creative license to fill in some gaps, such as the timeline towards the end of the clone wars.
> 
> We do believe it's possible to read this fic without having seen the films, as the plot is explained throughout it.

Harry's not entirely sure how he ended up alone in the Uscru District after dark, watching the citizens of Coruscant go about their lives as if there wasn't a war being fought across the entire galaxy around them. It's a strange thing, he thinks, aimlessly swirling the contents of his untouched drink, to witness their oblivion with his own eyes, but then, perhaps that's why he came. As a reminder of what it is that they're really trying to protect.

"You wanna buy some death sticks?"

Harry glances to the side, noticing a man having sidled up to him, his skin so pale it's almost luminescent under the artificial lights.

"You don't want to sell me death sticks," Harry says absently, waving his hand and turning back to his, admittedly suspicious looking, drink.

"And why wouldn't I wanna do that?"

Harry frowns, momentarily confused as he turns to look at the stranger again, dressed like most capital humans in black with his hair pulled back from his face, sharp features and eyes like Adegan crystals.

"You want to go home and rethink your life," Harry insists, putting proper thought into the command this time as he gives another wave of his hand.

The stranger laughs in his face, mimicking Harry's gesture with more flair than necessary. "What, you think you're a Jedi or something?"

It's not like there aren't people out there who are unaffected by mind tricks, but Harry hadn't expected a drug dealer in a seedy bar to be one of them. "I don't want your death sticks," he states, hoping that the man will give up and move on. It's not Harry's job to protect the people of Coruscant from themselves, after all.

"Well, why didn't you say so? I could have made a few more credits by now," the dealer complains, twisting away from the bar and melting into the crowd. Harry looks after him for a moment, rather glad he isn't wearing his usual uniform and wondering briefly what kind of mental faculties _really_ govern the Coruscant underworld. Perhaps the Council, and indeed the Senate, would be a bit more concerned about the dealings in the lower levels if they considered its inhabitants more worthy of their attention.

With a mental shrug, Harry rids himself of the thought and pushes his drink away. It's not like he can really spare the time to contemplate the local politics in a bar all night if he's going to be of any use in the relentless struggle for peace and order in the galaxy, and certainly not if he wants to get any sleep at all before being expected back at the Temple in the early hours of the morning.

He makes his way out of the bar carefully, slipping past groups huddled around high tables without spilling anyone's drinks and drawing as little attention to himself as possible. The air outside is not much cleaner than on the bar stool in the club, but the thinner number of civilians is a small comfort, and Harry takes the time to appreciate his surroundings, as shrouded in smog as they are, as he walks back towards his speeder.

The disruption in the alleyway comes to him as more of a feeling than an observation – a group of people moving in towards someone else, the sense of irritation overbearing the unmistakable discomfort of being overpowered. As much as it isn't his business, Harry is still, at his core, a guardian of the peace, and it's enough to make him hesitate.

“ – last week,” a harsh voice is saying. “That was your last chance, Tomlinson.”

“And I told you I would get you the money,” a second voice replies, and Harry recognises it easily, the pitch and dialect different from what's common around the Senate district. Walking closer and positioning himself at the corner of the alleyway and the street, he can see enough to make out three figures with their backs turned.

“Shut your mouth, kid. It's too late for that. Gonna have to make an example of you, ain't I?”

Harry's reacting before the man has fully pulled his blaster, stepping into view and shouting over to divert attention. A shot rings out, and the darkness is lit up by red, and then green a split second later as Harry draws his lightsaber. Two of the men aim at him, and poorly at that, but the third draws his blaster on the human Harry met inside, the man that had remained completely unaffected by the power of the Force. As he lifts his hand, seemingly on instinct and fuelled by fear, Harry understands why.

The three men are flung across the alley, hitting the wall on the opposite end with enough force to break bones. Harry watches as they crawl on all fours, staring up at Tomlinson with ill-disguised hatred before staggering to their feet and fleeing the scene. Finally, the stranger looks at Harry.

"Now they're going to tell everyone," he starts as he gets to his feet, eyes narrowed and reflecting off the Hologram adverts up above. "I'm not going to be able to sell if they all think I'm … one of you."

"Aren't you?" Harry asks, stepping closer and reaching out to sense for any injuries. He seems fine, if a little shaken.

"What? No, of course not." He pushes off the wall, towards the street. "I've got to go, before they come back."

“Where are you going?”

“I don't fucking know.”

“Hey,” Harry says, moving as if to stop him, but ultimately keeping his distance, “come with me.”

“What?”

“I have a speeder,” he shrugs, trying for nonchalance. It's ill-advised and definitely not his business, but a force sensitive adult, untrained and undetected by the Order, is practically unheard of, not to mention potentially dangerous to themselves and others.

"Are you taking me to the Temple?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Then I'm not taking you to the Temple."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then, to Harry's surprise, the man looks around quickly and says, “Fine, just … let's go. Before they come back.”

Within minutes, Harry's settled into his speeder with a complete stranger, who's probably carrying illegal items and seems to have little sense of his own powers. It's not the ideal way to end his evening, and it surely isn't how to get his planned early night, but he's been taught not to believe in coincidences, and he doesn't like to think that the Force might make a mistake.

They end up back in Harry's neighbourhood, among the top levels of Coruscant. His guest keeps squinting up at the moons, so Harry has to gently guide him towards the right building, leading the way across the small hangar.

"You can stay here as long as you need to," Harry starts, removing his shoes and tucking them into the small rack by the door once they step into his home. "Though I would like to know your name, if you're staying here. I'm Harry."

“Who says I'm staying?”

“Those men who tried to kill you, I should imagine,” Harry answers mildly. “Are you hungry?”

He doesn't really expect an answer as he walks across the open living area and up the small step on which the kitchen is built, the big space framed by large windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. It's sparsely furnished like all Jedi abodes, and painted in light colours with little distractions. Harry opens up the cooler compartment and gets out two square containers.

“You live here?” There's disbelief in his voice as Harry turns, imagining what it must look like for someone who doesn't appear to have spent much time on the sunlight levels. He hadn't put much thought into it before, trained to see past possession and reject extravagance, but it makes him wonder now, about the difference between simple and destitute.

“I do,” he replies simply.

There's a brief silence as Harry heats the food up, and then, “I guess you can call me Louis.”

Harry nods, placing the two containers on the kitchen island and digging out cutlery.

Louis hops up onto the stool by the counter and starts eating in silence. Harry feels slightly guilty for viewing him like one of his research projects, but Louis' so far removed from the people he spends his days with, and he has no way of knowing how long he may be around for. Louis, for his part, spares one glance at Harry and gets up, taking his food into the living room and standing by the windows, looking out over the city with his body half turned away.

"Are you gonna tell them about me?" he asks after some time, keeping his eyes on the rooftops and traffic outside.

"Not unless you want me to," Harry replies. Perhaps it's his duty, but the Council has got far bigger things to worry about right now, and Louis' too old to train. The truth is that he has no idea what the protocol is for this sort of thing.

"So what do you want from me?"

Harry puts his cutlery down, shifting on his chair to face him better.

"I want to help, if I can."

"You gonna take care of those thugs for me, then?"

"That's not what we do," Harry answers after a moment, wondering how much longer Louis plans to deflect the conversation. "You used the Force in that alleyway."

There's no quick reply, so Harry waits, and Louis eats.

When he's done, he comes over to the small kitchen island again, placing the empty container on the counter. Harry observes him passively, watching the indecision on his face as he looks up. "I still don't get why you brought me here," he says at last.

"I don't doubt that you can take care of yourself," Harry answers slowly, carefully, "but I might have answers you're looking for."

"What answers?"

Harry takes a breath, finding both defiance and curiosity in Louis' eyes, but knowing he's walking a thin line. "You're powerful, Louis, you must know that."

"How would _you_ know?"

"I saw it. I've seen many Jedi do what you did, but it normally takes years of training."

"Bullshit," Louis snaps. "You just want me to agree to let them brainwash me."

"Brainwash?" Harry repeats. "That's not what the Order does."

"I don't care what you do," Louis insists, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Harry can feel his anger like a thick layer of restless energy, intruding on his own sense of calm.

"How long have you known you're Force sensitive?" Harry asks, moving to tidy up and give Louis some space.

"Is this a test?"

"No. It's curiosity as to how you've gone undetected. Have you tried not to be found?"

"I'm not from here," Louis states, eyes still guarded. “Nobody came for me.”

Harry regards him for a moment, his small statue and protective stance, wiry muscles stretched taut over protruding bones, dark smudges under his eyes. He's scared, Harry can feel that too, but there's courage there as well. A definite will to fight.

“Outer Rim then,” he says quietly. “You're a long way from home.” Louis doesn't answer him, and Harry doesn't want to pry. “You can take the room by the door,” he announces, because he's tired and he needs to mediate and Louis probably doesn't have anywhere else to go.

“Aren't you afraid I'm gonna kill you in your sleep or something?”

“I doubt you could,” Harry answers honestly.

“Or steal your stuff?”

“If you find anything worth stealing, help yourself.”

He doesn't wait for an answer, turning and walking right from the kitchen into the master bedroom. Louis waits around in the living room for a while, Harry can hear him playing with the Holonet for a few minutes as he changes into softer robes, dimming the lights in his room with a gentle flick of his hand. Fortunately, Louis must get bored fast, because the sound shuts off, and there's the distant click of the other bedroom door closing.

Once he's finished meditating, the presence of another person in Harry's old room feels more comforting than disconcerting, and all questions have been put on hold, a quiet murmur at the back of his mind as he falls into a dreamless sleep.

***

He's woken by the pinkish light of dawn, his bedroom awash in colour, and he knows without proof that Louis is gone. The bed is unmade as he goes to confirm it, but nothing else seems to have been touched. He's not sure Louis slept at all, but perhaps he got some rest at least, a few hours of peace to figure out a plan.

Really, that's all he could have hoped for.

The speeder is still in the parking area when he leaves to get to the Temple, which makes him wonder how Louis found his way home while looking nothing like the members of this neighbourhood. But he's managed this long on his own, so Harry lets it go, instead drawing on being present, going over his tasks for the day. Another battalion are due to arrive shortly before his shift, though he isn't sure where they're supposed to be settled. The wings are always cramped these days, and it's by no means easy to keep up with the amount of patients constantly arriving.

Vokara Che has already delegated tasks to his peers when Harry walks in, causing him to feel faintly guilty for not arriving sooner. She looks tired, as usual, and barely has time to spare him a smile before directing him to the non-critical cases.

It wasn't a hard decision at the time, choosing the path of healing after his Trials and joining the Consulars in their pursuit of knowledge above combat. He's seen battle, what the war does to people and how his friends have all learnt to wield the Force to destroy, but he never found its power to be more infinite as when it's used to heal and create. These days, there never seems to be enough time in the day for everything Harry wishes he could achieve, with him being required in the Halls for such long hours, and it's hard not to let impatience and frustration take hold when people keep dying around him despite everyone's incessant efforts. He knows there's so much he still doesn't understand and so many ways in which to manipulate the midi-chlorians around him to achieve real wonders, but he's only just started, and the war isn't going to stop just because he wants it to. At the end of the day, there's only so much any of them can do, and he's got to accept that. Those who can't be saved will become a part of the Force once more, and Harry will continue to use that energy to do better. He figures that the more he studies in his own time, the more he's able to do at work, and the more lives he can save, which makes up for the lost sleep.

He looks down at the young Jedi in front of him, lying still and lifeless on the bed. Reaching out with a hand hovering over her heart, he can feel the Force still pumping faintly in her veins, but it's quickly leaving her and she's not responding to the crystal he's been using for the past hour in an attempt to wake her.

"She needs a healing trance," Harry tells Master Che as she approaches, letting his hand drop. She nods, and Harry moves to the next bed, trying not to let his frustration grow. He's not yet capable of performing a healing trance on anyone but himself, and it's too dangerous to try if he's not completely focused.

Days like these are an exercise in restraint. He needs to be mindful of his thoughts, stopping the negativity before it hinders his actions.

Harry works through the scheduled break, caught in the middle of a complicated task that will hopefully speed up this Jedi's ability to leave the ward. He's faintly desperate to help someone on his own, though it feels almost heartless that their biggest goal is creating new bed space, sending Jedi back to their own living areas to finish healing alone as soon as possible. They'd never send someone away too soon, but every person who leaves with maximum survival rates feels like a small mercy, and allows a new life to receive their help.

More often than not, Harry finds himself longing for the days before the war broke when time just stretched on and the Halls of Healing lay mostly empty, but he's quick to push those thoughts away like everything else that's of no use to him here in the now. It's an endless battle, but a necessary one. Growing up in the Academy, Harry had never been told his life was going to be easy.

Lunch is always split up so that the Halls aren't left empty, and Harry is sent away with a handful of other Jedi to the cafeteria, where he picks up a meal and sets up in the corner with his Holopad, reading up on the fastest and best healing techniques on the non-human life forms they have in the critical area, his food near forgotten. It's always difficult to pick between focusing on one species or gaining wider knowledge on many, but he's drawn towards the latter most days.

A clan of younglings come through the doors, talking animatedly amongst themselves, and Harry pauses to watch them from across the room, their eager faces that have not yet seen much of the horror and suffering laying ahead of them. Closing his eyes, he lets their positive energy wash over him, soothing his restless mind and casting light into the darkest corners of his soul. The nearest one turns to look at him when he opens his eyes again, and he gives her a grateful smile. She waves, no doubt having seen him around, and Harry reminds himself that the work he does is still important, and he is constantly better than he was the day before.

The frustration has faded away almost completely by the time he arrives back in the Halls, and he manages to use a new tactic he'd read over lunch to help a young Togruta who had been dipping towards a critical state, without needing to call upon a Master for help. Vokara Che isn't prone to compliments but Harry can sense her approval as she stops by to check on his patient, and later, when he's been dismissed from the Halls to go study in the Archives, he feels more at peace with himself and the world around him, once again focused completely as he buries himself in reading.

The sun has long set when he makes his way up to one of the hangars to find his speeder, driving the short way home to his empty flat. As always, he spends a few moments thinking about Nick and how his mission might be going, before gently pushing it from his mind as he sits down to have his dinner. Nick hasn't contacted him for weeks, and it's not that Harry's worried, as he would have felt it if something was wrong, but he's still used to sharing a space with him, and having a friend to talk to about nothing in particular as he goes about his routines in the evenings. Harry doesn't much like to admit it, but he does sometimes feel lonely, despite being connected to all Jedi through the Force and its teachings.

In a slightly bizarre way, he finds that he misses Louis' company, as hostile as it was. It changed the atmosphere a little, and gave him something to do. On his own, all Harry can really do is revisit his teachings, or watch the Holonet for updates of news he either doesn't actually need to keep up on, or that he'll hear about in the next debriefing. Louis had made him forget about the war for the first time since it started, and that, if nothing else, had certainly been a welcome distraction.

Two days later, Harry's not so sure about that anymore.

He wakes up from a distant thumping sound, followed by a faint scratching like nails against metal. It doesn't take long before he's collected himself enough to slip out of bed, moving soundlessly across the flat to the front door where he stops to listen again. He can hear someone breathing on the other side, close enough now to recognise the presence of the person. With a small wave of his hand, he wills the door to slide open, revealing a form curled up in the corridor.

“Louis,” Harry breathes as he crouches, reaching out instinctively to feel for injuries. He's not hurt, but when Harry carefully turns him over to examine him it becomes abundantly clear that he's drugged, eyes clouded and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Louis doesn't answer, but he does move to crawl into the flat, leaving Harry to close the door behind him.

Once in, Louis effectively seems to give up, stretched out haphazardly on the hardwood flooring with shallow breaths. Harry stoops to lift him, amazed at how little he weighs, and deposits him on the sofa, kneeling beside it to keep an eye on him. Louis stares up at him, but Harry can't be sure if he's really looking at him, or at something else.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “can you hear me? Louis?”

The only response he gets is Louis pulling his knees closer to his body, hiding his face as he starts to shiver. Harry places a careful hand on his wrist, feeling his pulse and racking his brain for anything he might have read about ixetal cilona and its effects. It's stupid and naïve, Harry realises, but he hadn't considered the fact that Louis might be dependent on the substance he's selling, and he's not trained for this sort of thing. All he knows is that death sticks come with horrible side effects, causing twisted hallucinations and severely shortening a person's lifespan.

“Louis,” he mutters again, reaching for the blanket thrown over the back of the couch to cover Louis' shivering form. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

“The voices,” he whispers so quietly Harry barely catches it, though he's not sure it's an actual reply to the question.  
  
“What voices?”

“In my head.” Louis' eyes are closed, eyebrows knitted together in pain or confusion and hair damp against his forehead. He looks so young, delicate and breakable like a wing-clipped butterfly, and Harry finally understands what he's talking about.

For someone as receptive to the Force as Louis, with no training at all, he must constantly be getting snippets of other Jedi, of past and potential future events. The sticks are a sure fire way to reduce how much he hears, significantly weakening his connection to the Force and muting the voices in his head.

“I'm so sorry,” Harry sighs, still holding Louis' wrist loosely between his fingers. “You shouldn't have had to do it all alone.”

Louis doesn't answer, and his eyes are closed now, pupils moving restlessly as if affected by bad dreams. Harry stays on the floor, sinking into a deep meditation rather than sleep, and that's how they spend the night, side by side, until the sun casts its golden rays through the windows once more.

When Louis doesn't wake on his own, Harry quietly rises, making them both some tea and bringing it back to the living room. He looks so peaceful, Harry almost doesn't want to ruin it by making him face the day.

But Louis wakes after the third call of his name, flinching like a cornered animal and immediately curling his hands into fists before his eyes land on Harry. Either he realises Harry isn't a threat, or he simply recognises that there's no point in putting up a fight, letting his muscles relax fractionally as he closes his eyes again. He looks no better than last night, but at least he's aware and alive, if not recovered.

“Why did you come here?” Harry asks, because it's been on his mind all night. Louis could have gone anywhere.

“I don't know,” he replies weakly, seemingly suppressing a shudder.

“Well, I'm glad you did.”

"Could you put the heating on or something?" Louis asks, completely ignoring Harry's sentiments and curling up smaller until only half his face is on show. Harry nods, holding his hand out towards the heating system and twisting his wrist, watching the numbers rise as he wills them to. As he turns his attention back to Louis, he catches him just barely looking away, pretending not to care.

“There's better ways, you know,” Harry says slowly, watching him for a reaction.

“Better ways of what?”

“Quieting the voices in your head.”

Louis' still for a moment, the tension growing as he slowly moves to push himself up into a half-sitting position, finally meeting Harry's eyes. “If you think you can tell me –” he starts, but Harry cuts him off.

“I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. The Force is stronger than you, and you can't shut it out forever. But you don't have to fight it.” Louis looks like he wants to argue but Harry hasn't got time for it. “The Force is your greatest ally,” he tells him, getting to his feet. “I have to go, but you're free to stay. There's food in the fridge and you already seem to know how to work the Holonet. I'll be back this evening.”

Louis watches him go, hands already reaching out for the Holonet remote and his tea. While he still looks suspicious, at least he seems in no rush to leave, unlike Harry, who's risking being late twice in a row.

Driving to the Temple is taken up entirely by compartmentalising the conversation with Louis, and any thoughts he's got on the matter, so that as Harry steps into the Halls, his mind is clear again, welcomingly calm and ready to face his shift. He works through lunch until the afternoon without really stopping to take a breather, and every time his thoughts start to wander towards Louis and how he's recovering, he forces himself to concentrate even harder in an attempt to shut his worries down. It works, and it gets him results, and Master Che lets him off early to make sure he gets some proper food and rest, telling him to spend a day out of the Halls to catch up on his studies. Harry can't actually remember the last time it happened, so he doesn't protest. He really wants to check on Louis anyway.

Louis' perched on a stool by the kitchen island and staring through the window when Harry gets home. There's something distant in his eyes as he turns to look at him, finally, as if the fire there has burnt down to glowing embers, calmer than before, almost resigned.

“They're getting louder,” he says.

“Yes,” Harry agrees without needing to be told exactly what Louis means, because he's felt it too, they all have, but only a few will talk about it. “The dark side is growing stronger.”

“The dark side?”

Harry regards him solemnly from across the room for a few seconds, deciding that he needs to know, regardless of what happens next, and walks the short distance to the kitchen area, taking a seat opposite him. “The Sith,” he clarifies, “use the dark side of the Force for their own selfish desires, using negative emotions to fuel their power. Anger, hatred, fear. All that is easy to come by …” He pauses, meeting Louis' eyes to make sure he's really listening.

“Is the dark side stronger?”

“No,” he declares, with a conviction that surprises even himself. “Only quicker, easier. But it breaks you. It's not the true purpose of the Force.”

“And what is?” Louis asks, watching him intently.

“Peace,” Harry tells him, simply.

"So you have to make the choice to ignore the darkness?"

"Yes. Everyone has it in them, but the strength comes from making the decision not to let it rule you."

Louis nods, going quiet while he thinks it over, and Harry takes the time to make himself some food.

"Is it too late for me to learn?" Louis asks, voice carefully neutral.

"I thought you didn't want to learn," Harry states, back turned as he puts his meal together.

" _You_ said I should."

"The Order's going to think so," Harry says, turning to face Louis.

"What about you, then?"

Harry smiles tightly. "I'm neither qualified nor permitted to train you."

"So that's it then?" Louis questions, and Harry's aware of his growing frustration, able to feel it almost as clearly as if it were his own.

It takes effort to disregard it, but Harry nods, not rising to his tone. "For now. You're far too old to begin training at the Academy, anyway."

Louis doesn't answer, just slips off the stool and walks the short distance into the spare bedroom. Harry's sure that if the doors were able to slam, the sound would resonate through the flat.

But he's still here, he thinks, and decides not to go after him. Louis could have left and Harry might have followed, but he didn't, and maybe that changes everything. Harry knows he should tell the Council, but something about it doesn't feel right. Something about Louis does.

***

It's night time when he comes out of his evening meditation, speeders and spaceships blinking like stars outside his windows, the flat dark and quiet as he walks barefoot across the floor.

Louis' door is still shut, with no sound coming from beyond, but Harry can sense an energy that's too concentrated for him to be sleeping.

Whatever he'd expected to see when he walks in, it isn't the sight of Louis sat on a cushion in the middle of the room, surrounded by several light objects hovering at various heights in the air. His eyes are closed, posture relaxed, and showing a sense of control that far exceeds what Harry's used to seeing from the younglings at the Temple. His mind isn't made up, and his feelings aren't as easy to sort through as they normally are, but there's a brief sense of relief in watching Louis use the Force unprompted for the first time, something soothing in the way he's reining himself in, a stark contrast to what Harry's come to expect.

"Are you serious about learning?" he asks quietly, aware that Louis' heard him, or possibly felt him as he approached.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You've always got a choice," Harry confirms.

Louis opens his eyes, letting several books sink and land softly on the floor, his concentration divided now between that and the conversation. Harry's still impressed.

"Why do you have a spare bedroom?"

Harry tilts his head, realising suddenly that Louis' still dressed in the tight-fitting black he'd been wearing on the day they met, and he makes a mental note to find him something clean and comfortable. He hasn't washed either, hair matted and skin clammy, but his eyes burn stronger now, something like determination flickering in the deep blues of his irises.

"Because it isn't my flat," Harry replies finally. "It belongs to my former Master."

"Where is he now?"

"On a mission for the Order."

"What kind of mission?"

"I couldn't say," Harry admits. "It's undercover."

Louis' eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to figure something out. "And why aren't you away on a mission?"

"Because I'm stationed at the Temple," Harry informs him, deciding that he owes Louis a context for what he's got himself involved in. "I'm studying to become a Healer."

Louis' silent as he reaches out to catch a small sphere that's been hovering just above his head. It's a tiny replica of Coruscant, and the only thing Harry has that can be considered a personal belonging. He's had it for as long as he can remember.

"What do you know about the Jedi?" Harry asks at last.

"You're like, the police, right?"

"Yes, and no," Harry answers with a faint smile. "We're guardians of peace, not soldiers. I don't know what happened to you to make you distrust the Order so much, but if I'm going to train you I'm going to need your trust, Louis."

"Do I need to trust them?"

"Right now, it's not as crucial. You're working with me, not them." He watches as Louis thinks it over, mindlessly running the pads of his fingers over the grooves in the model. Finally, Harry feels a shift, something similar to resignation and acceptance. He crosses the room, sitting opposite Louis to reduce the feeling of having the higher ground. They are both students of the Force, now, and so are effectively equal.

"There are guidelines," Harry admits, watching Louis squirm a little, perhaps unused to sitting in a meditative pose for long periods of time. "The first being that you can't use death sticks any more."

"You said I wouldn't have to," Louis points out.

"It might take time though, to understand," Harry says patiently, "and you'll need to listen, not shut it out."

"Okay," Louis agrees reluctantly.

"This isn't just something you do," Harry goes on, "it's something you are. You can't turn it on and off, which means you have to always be mindful, always follow the rules and never allow yourself to give in to blind emotion, particularly negative ones. Do you understand?"

Again, Louis nods, but he's nervous now, spikes of anxiety stabbing at Harry from their close proximity.

"Control your fear," he orders, "we have much to do and I need you focused. You've got nothing to be afraid of. Yet."

The faint alarm that registers on Louis' face draws another smile from Harry, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on the satisfaction.

"We're going to start with working on your mind," he says, gently taking the model and holding it on his open palm. The focus comes easy, and it's basically second nature to have the object rising into the air. "When I let it go, I want you to catch it before it lands. You've clearly got a decent grasp of lifting stationary objects, but let's try moving ones."

He releases his hold, and watches the sphere fall, slowing down as it gets close to the floor but still touching it before Louis manages to get it in the air again.

“You need to be quicker,” Harry tells him brusquely. “Your mental reflexes need to be as fast as your physical. Try again.”

Louis does catch it this time, and gently places it back in Harry's palm. A quick smile flashes across his face then, and it suits him, Harry thinks absently, meeting his eyes and noticing small flecks of gold in the sea of blue. “Good,” he murmurs. “How does it feel?”

Louis seems a bit surprised by the question, pausing as if to really consider it. “Easy,” he settles on eventually. “Like I've done it before.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Your body is already in tune with the Force. It wants you to use it.”

“But why?”

“Some people are just made for it,” Harry shrugs, getting to his feet. “It depends on the midi-chlorian count in your blood.”

“Midi what?”

“Midi-chlorians,” Harry repeats, smiling faintly. “They're in every living thing, but Jedi have a significantly higher count. They enable us to detect the Force, and use it.”

Louis nods. "So that's why I could use it without training?"

"Exactly."

After a moment of reflection, Louis picks up the model again, tossing it high into the air and attempting to catch it on the descent. Harry knows he isn't concentrated enough, is far too confident, but Louis needs to learn from his own mistakes, so he watches. Just before it inevitably hits the floor, Harry slows it down. “As I said, we have much to do,” he says pointedly, guiding the model back into Louis' hand. “But not until tomorrow. I need to sleep and I suggest you do the same. And wash. There's clean clothes in the closet.”

“So you're gonna let me stay?” Louis asks, as if he has to, when Harry hasn't even considered another option.

“Unless you'd rather stay somewhere else?” he answers, a bit uncertain suddenly.

“No, this is fine,” Louis hastens to say. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Harry nods, and leaves the room to give Louis some space. He knows he's breaking the rules and even risking expulsion from the Order, but he can't bring himself to regret it. They're at war, different rules apply, and if someone needs his help, Harry is not going to refuse it.

***

He sleeps well that night, and feels a little dizzy upon waking. Getting more than his usual minimal hours mixed with the knowledge that he has an entire day off immediately sets his schedule askew, unsettling him somewhat.

The urge is, as always, to immediately get out a Holopad and spend his time reading until he and Louis can start more training, but it's been too long since Harry's had time to let his mind rest.

He's still curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and the Holonet on, drifting in and out of wakeful alertness, when the second bedroom door slides open and Louis shuffles out. His hair is a fluffy mess, he must have fallen asleep with it wet, Harry realises, and he's wearing one of Harry's old tunics that's slightly too big on him, giving him a soft and dishevelled appearance that completely clashes with the impression Harry's already formed of him.

“Is there tea?” he rasps, voice sleepy raw and pleasantly cracked, and Harry can only nod, watching him make his way to the kitchen to find a cup.

Next thing he knows, Louis' curled up next to him on the couch, reaching for the blanket he'd slept under several nights ago. It suddenly seems like much longer than that.

“Why aren't you at the Temple?” he mumbles, taking a sip of his tea gingerly and effectively pulling Harry out of his confusing thoughts.

“I'm supposed to study,” he admits, “but I decided to catch up on the news instead.”

“Are you paid?” Louis asks then, and Harry isn't as sharp as he normally is at this time of day, failing miserably at connecting the dots.

“Paid?”

“To work for the Order,” Louis specifies.

“Oh, um … well, we're sponsored by the Republic, so they give us enough credits to sustain ourselves. Sometimes more if we're going on a mission and might need it for supplies and such. But this flat is issued by the Order, and the speeder too.”

“So how much do you get?”

“I don't know,” Harry answers sincerely.

"So you're potentially rich?"

"I suppose so."

"We should go shopping," Louis declares, though neither of them seem in any state to immediately leave the flat.

"Jedi do not need to own objects in order to feel complete," Harry recites mildly, looking around at the sparsely decorated room. "We have what we need, to practice and keep in shape when not on missions, and that's all."

Louis gives him a look but doesn't comment, conversation dropping in favour of the news feed.

"I'd like clothes that fit," he murmurs in an ad break for an item Harry can't imagine anybody actually needing, "these are not my size."

“You look good in them,” Harry tells him before he can think it through. Louis gives him an odd look again.

“I look like a prat,” he pronounces, “but I guess this is what the posh people from the upper levels call fashion.”

“They're not posh,” Harry tries, but Louis doesn't seem to be listening.

"It's all so weird," Louis continues. "I was watching some daytime shows yesterday, and they're all so concerned with how they look, what new delicacy to try, which colour their skin should be this week. Don't they have more pressing things to worry about?"

Harry lets him go on, detailing his discoveries after a day of watching local Holonet shows, and only protests a token amount when Louis reaches over him to grab the remote and flick through channels, claiming the news as boring.

It's strange how easily Louis seems to be carving a space for himself right there on the sofa, and in Harry's very structured life simultaneously. Strange, but not disconcerting as such, and Harry can't really imagine it any differently anyway. Trust is imperative, and so they have to get to know each other, just like Nick had got Harry to open up, a long, long time ago.

“Will you need to go back for anything?” Harry asks just as Louis has settled on a show he wants them to watch.

"Not much point, and too risky," Louis shrugs, not even looking away from the screen. "It's just clothes and people I've never really liked who would sell me out for a good enough price as soon as they saw me. Better for me if they all think I died, or left the planet. They'd never look this far up."

It's a bleak outlook, but Harry is impressed at how he's already learnt to let go of everything before this chosen path. Then again, by the sound of it, there doesn't seem much to let go of.

“I have something for you,” Harry remembers then, getting to his feet and padding into his old room. There's a few books stacked neatly on a shelf above the bed, but Harry opens the drawer in the bedside cabinet to get out the one he's read more times in his life than any other.

He hands it over to Louis when he comes back, watching his face for a reaction.

“The Jedi Path,” Louis reads slowly, “A Manual For Students of the Force.”

“It's customary to hand it down from Master to Padawan,” Harry explains. “There's additional notes in there that might be helpful.”

On the inside cover are a list of names, citing previous owners so the Padawan can trace back their heritage, so to speak. Harry's handwriting hasn't changed much, his name a thin scrawl at the bottom. Louis looks at the names, then flicks idly through the pages, taking in the different coloured ink in the margins, some phrases underlined by other people later on.

"Thanks," Louis says, closing the book carefully and placing it in his lap. “Does this mean I'm officially your Padawan?”

“No. _Taking it to the Council_ would make it official,” Harry replies drily, taking a seat at the other end of the couch again.

“Just as well then. I would never have called you Master anyway,” Louis says without missing a beat.

Harry glances at him humorously. "You don't have to say it for it to unofficially be true."

Louis gives a wry smile, getting up and taking their cups to the kitchen for refills. "You told me last night that I need to follow rules. Why aren't you freaking out about secretly teaching me?"

“First of all, Jedi don't 'freak out',” Harry says indignantly.

“Fine,” Louis humours him. “Why aren't you having 'mindful regrets' about illicitly training me?”

Harry smiles faintly, carding his fingers through his long hair before dropping his hand with a sigh. “Because we're at war,” he replies, turning the playful atmosphere into something heavier.

"I'm assuming you don't mean us against the Temple," Louis replies carefully, coming back over and taking a seat on the sofa again.

"There's a movement trying to overthrow the Republic," Harry explains, trying to plan the easiest way to sum it up. “One of the leaders is a former Jedi, Count Dooku, and he's got the Federation on his side. So far, Coruscant hasn't been overly affected, and the Separatists have mostly retreated to the Outer Rim, but the Sith are growing stronger. You've felt it too. It's like a disturbance in the Force, casting everything in shadow, and the Council think Dooku is working for them, that there's a Sith Lord somewhere in the Galaxy growing stronger by the second, just waiting to crush the Republic and take over once the war has claimed enough casualties to make us weak.” He stops to take a breath and to calm himself, willing his fear to subside. Louis reaches out as if to help, but his hand just hovers in the air, unsure where to go. After a moment, he draws it back, nods, and looks at the muted Holonet, giving Harry a moment to gather himself.

It baffles him that there are people who have no idea this war is happening, and aren't aware that their lives could change at any point.

"What is that person wearing?" Louis asks loudly, drawing Harry's attention back to the present. He keeps talking, obnoxiously doing impressions of the show hosts and complaining whenever Harry's mind seems to drift elsewhere. He's a great entertainer, and Harry appreciates his efforts to keep the conversation shallow. At long last, however, he decides that they've wasted far too much time on popular entertainment and gets up to cook them a proper breakfast, serving it by the kitchen island where they mostly sit in comfortable silence until the plates are empty and the sun has risen high in the sky, indicating noon.

“We'll start with physical training,” Harry says as he starts to clear their meal away. “Testing your reflexes, a bit of combat, meditation – the basics.”

“When can we start lightsaber stuff?” Louis asks, and Harry isn't surprised.

“When you've learnt self-discipline,” he tells him firmly. “And it won't be with a real blade. I'll find you a practice saber when you're ready.”

Louis' wise enough not to protest, and Harry appreciates his restraint. “Right,” he says as the last dishes are put away, “let's clear the living room.”

They work tirelessly through the afternoon, sparring and pausing only for breaks or for Harry to comment on Louis' style. He has a largely offensive skill set, often involving dirty moves that barely count as fair fighting. Harry has a lot to work with, but it feels something like progress when they both drop onto the sofa at sunset, panting through the moisture clamming up their skin. There will be bruises, but nothing he can't fix once he's settled down.

"Did I pass?" Louis asks him, practically glowing as he weakly tries to reach out and will the water towards himself. It wobbles, overflowing a little, but otherwise doesn't move.

"There's nothing to pass," Harry tells him seriously, watching Louis lean forward to get to his glass, sweat glistening on the back of his neck. "It's not a test."

Louis rests his elbows on his knees, ducking his head and dragging a hand through his damp hair. "You're quite frustrating, you know that?" he says, catching Harry's eyes, but there's half a smile curving his lips and a looseness in his shoulders that softens the blow somewhat.

"That makes two of us, then," Harry allows, giving in to the pleasant ache in his shoulders and relishing the idea of having an actual sparring partner again.

Louis gets up, activating the Holonet on his way to the kitchen.

"I'm taking you shopping," he announces after a moment, following the sound of rummaging through the fridge.

"Why?" Harry figures it best to humour him, to hear what his problems are with the Jedi lifestyle so he knows what needs to be corrected.

"You only have the basics. Where's the treats, the stuff you dig into after a hard day at the Temple?"

"Healthy food promotes a healthy body, and meditation allows you to come to terms with difficult experiences," Harry argues without heat.

Louis returns with a container, poking around with exaggerated distaste. "You sound like a book."

They're both quiet for a second, Louis eyeing his food and Harry watching him, waiting, when a sudden beeping noise draws his attention away.

"Nick …" he breathes, reaching for his utility belt.

"Who?" Louis asks with his mouth full while Harry enters the passcode to the beacon transceiver, trying to connect the call.

"A friend," he tells him as he gets to his feet quickly. "Stay here."

He shuts the door to his bedroom and sinks down on the bed, pressing the button to allow the hologram to materialise.

Nick looks tired, but his smile is genuine as he looks out at Harry, cloak drawn close around him.

"Hey, H." The audio crackles, distance putting a strain on the call.

"Hi. How's the mission?" Harry likes to get that out of the way early on, because it matters, and he does care, but there's always other things to discuss. Personal things.

"It's going well. I think we're making progress, without saying too much. You look well rested, for once."

"I got the day off, yesterday was quite challenging," Harry explains. "You don't look so great, though."

"This undercover business is harder than it seems," Nick admits with a tired smile. "But I'm safe for now. No need to worry."

"I'm not worried," Harry says even though it's only half true.

"How are your studies?"

"Fine. The Halls are always full these days. I get plenty of practice."

Nick sighs, probably able to see the strain it puts on Harry to talk about it. The Halls aren't supposed to be full. People aren't supposed to be dying.

"I sense you're not telling me everything," Nick says mildly after a moment, and Harry hadn't expected him to get there quite so quickly, but he hadn't really expected to be able to keep it a secret either.

"Alright," he breathes, dragging a hand through his hair while trying to choose his words carefully. "I met this … person, a few days ago," he starts. "He's my age, I think, and he hasn't been trained in the Force, but he's got it, Nick, and he's powerful. The way he wields it is … clumsy, but pure, somehow. Raw. It's like nothing I've ever seen."

"Where's he from?" Nick asks with a frown, clearly as intrigued as Harry had been.

"Outer Rim, but I think he's been on Coruscant for a long time."

"And how did the Council find him?"

"They didn't," Harry admits, ducking his head. "I did."

“… You haven't told them, have you?"

"We both know they've got bigger things on their plate," Harry points out, "and even if they didn't, they wouldn't take him on."

"You don't know that …"

"I do. Even Skywalker had to fight for it, remember? The only reason they agreed in the end was because it was Master Qui-Gon's dying wish."

Nick hums, taking a moment to consider Harry's words. "You know you aren't supposed to train somebody without the Council knowing."

"I do. But I also know we need all the help we can get. He's strong already, without my input, and could be so much more with guidance."

There's never been a time when Harry hasn't trusted Nick with everything he has, but he can't help but be vaguely concerned about telling him so much about Louis. Nick does have the authority to shut the whole thing down, if he feels that Harry is crossing the line.

When Nick finally speaks again, it's with the soothing tone familiar to Harry after years of being mentored by him.

"Do you confidently feel that this will not negatively affect your studies and continued work in the Halls?"

"I do, Master," Harry nods without missing a beat.

Nick sighs again, scrubbing a hand over his face and looking like he'd much rather not have known about Harry's shady business, but it's not like Harry's usually prone to breaking the rules, and he hasn't caused much trouble in the past. Certainly not like Skywalker, if the rumours are anything to go by. “And do you think you can protect him?” Nick asks at last.

“From the Council?”

“From himself.”

Harry looks at his hands, feeling the weight of Nick's words settle over his shoulders like a heavy cloak. “The dark side is growing stronger,” Nick murmurs, as if Harry doesn't already know the stakes, and the difference it makes that Louis is an adult, vulnerable in ways that none of them might yet understand. "How did you find him if the Council doesn't know? Where was he?" Harry can tell that he's asking out of curiosity, even if it might be better for everyone if he doesn't know much.

"I was on the lower levels, in a bar," he starts, feeling faint shame for admitting to spending any free time away from studying. "I saw Louis push some people away without touching them. It was so much more than somebody oblivious to their abilities should be able to do."

"Acting out of fear makes you stronger, but much more perceptible to the dark side," Nick states, and it isn't like Harry doesn't already know that, too. "If he is to learn, you have to make sure his strength comes from a stable place."

“I know,” Harry tells him, “and I know it's a lot of responsibility, but he'd be in more danger on his own, without my help.”

Nick regards him for a moment, face contemplative, before speaking again. “If he really is as strong as you're telling me, then I believe you're right,” he admits, nodding. “Do you trust him?”

“No,” Harry allows with a shrug, “but I barely know him. He needs me, though. He hasn't got anywhere else to go.”

“What's he like?”

“Arrogant,” Harry says with an involuntary smile, “impulsive. But he's funny too,” he adds softly. “Ambitious, I think.”

"Sounds like a job worthy of Kenobi," Nick says wryly, and just like that, Harry feels more certain that he's doing the right thing, and a lot calmer for confiding in somebody.

They talk a while longer, Harry asking for stories and comparing them to what he's already heard in briefings. Nick in turn asks about specific techniques Harry is working to acquire, and gives him advice on where to go in the Archives, how to practice them safely and effectively. When they say goodbye, he feels lighter, more grounded after touching down with the only thing that never changes.

But Louis' gone again, when he emerges from his room. The living space is still a mess, with the furniture pushed up against the walls, making it feel even emptier without Louis' presence.

Harry clamps down on his worry and starts to put the living room back in place as a way of distracting himself while the sky grows darker outside.

Evening wears on, and Harry makes himself dinner when Louis doesn't return, sitting on the floor at the window to watching over the city quietly with his back to the empty space.

He falls into meditation after eating, already in a good position to start, and takes the time to consider everything they've done today, and Nick's words on being mindful of Louis' energy.

The door slides open and several items land on the floor with a slam, knocking Harry out of his state with a jolt.

"It's late," Harry says, instead of _where have you been_ , but Louis ignores him, making an awful racket as he carries a load of bags over to the kitchen, leaving Harry to climb to his feet and follow.

"We were running low on supplies," he explains as he starts unloading things onto the table, a mix of foods Harry's never seen before and a few he has, with advice not to go near them.

"You stole my card?"

"I didn't steal it," Louis says, tossing it into Harry's lap. "You never said I couldn't go shopping."

"I never said you could either," Harry points out and gets to his feet, eyeing the purchases suspiciously. "This is what you eat?"

Louis shrugs. "It's what I wanted."

"What's this?" Harry asks as he inspects the remaining bags, pulling out some dark fabric that Louis snatches from his fingers.

"Clothes," he tells him, stuffing it back in the bag, "that actually fit me. You don't mind, do you?"

Harry doesn't, but it irks him that he's been so distracted that he hasn't got any work done at all. "You could have told me you were going out," he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Louis put everything away and creating his own system that will undoubtedly interfere with Harry's, given how it doesn't seem to make any sense at all.

"You seemed so caught up by that call. Didn't want to disturb you, did I? Especially if I'm a secret," Louis points out, stuffing a few boxes on top of each other and closing the door before they can fall out, effectively building a trap.

That's no excuse for not leaving a note, but Harry hasn't got the energy to argue any more. It dawns on him that he has to go back to the Halls tomorrow, having gained no new knowledge at all, and he promised Nick that Louis wouldn't interfere with his studies.

"I'm going to bed," he announces, pushing some hair out of his face tiredly. "Read your book," he adds, before turning his back to the kitchen.

"Hey, Harry."

"Yes?"

"This Nick," Louis says, leaning back against the counter, eyes gleaming in the dimmed lights from outside. "Is he more than a friend?"

"Yeah, he's my teacher," Harry shrugs. "Family."

"That's not what I meant," Louis says with a breathless laugh, a lopsided smile lingering on his face, and Harry feels uncomfortably out his depth, suddenly. "You share this flat with him, right?"

"Yes …"

Louis nods, as if that tells him something. "And you miss him?"

"Of course. It's only to be expected." Harry backs towards his room, away from Louis' interrogation, suddenly realising what he's suggesting. "But it's not … like that."

"Sure. Goodnight then," Louis replies, already turning towards to the kitchen again, dismissing Harry in his own home.

He hesitates, turning to leave before changing his mind again, watching the stretch of Louis' small back as he reaches for something on a shelf. "Jedi don't marry," Harry says, just to make sure Louis understands, and feels a bit put off when he laughs, a low chuckle in his throat that seems to reverberate through Harry's spine.

"I wasn't talking about marriage, mate,” he says.

Harry ducks his head, heat rushing to his cheeks in a way he's not used to, uncomfortable and sickly. "I told you," he mumbles. "All strong emotions need to be controlled. Passion and recklessness go directly against the precepts of the Code."

"What about love?" Louis asks brusquely, and he's not smiling now, eyes intent but face blank.

"Love is …" Harry fumbles, hands clammy as he curls his fingers around the door frame, "love's essential," he decides, "but only if it's … pure."

"Pure?"

"Unconditional," he corrects himself, taking a deep breath.

“Right,” Louis nods, and doesn't comment any further.

Harry turns again, finally making it into his bedroom and taking a moment to calm himself as the door slides shut, sinking down the embarrassment and being mindful of his emotions.

It's late, but he feels obliged to at least revise old topics, and sets up his Holopad once he's settled in bed, skimming chapters from the previous few days. He must fall asleep like that, caught up in newly catalogued ways to treat Twi'lek people and avoid his mistakes, because there's no real line in his memory between reading and waking just before dawn with sore eyes and a heavy head.

He uses the sonic shower to conserve energy, and dresses in clean robes, tying his hair back in a tight bun, but he still feels sluggish by the time he's done. He considers leaving a note, but doesn't know what to write, and the door to Louis' room isn't closed properly so he ends up nudging the door gently with his mind to get a peek, just to make sure Louis' still there.

He's curled in on himself in sleep, chest bare and covers tangled tight around his limbs. Harry watches for a moment, noting how Louis' breathing is too quick for someone who should be sleeping calmly. He seems troubled, but not in any danger of hurting himself physically from night terrors, so Harry can't justify waking him. It does, however, bring to question the fact that he knows very little about Louis' past, but he doubts it's been an easy one. There doesn't seem to be any friends or family in the picture, no true purpose other than survival. Harry knows Louis' strong, he's seen it, but he wonders how much of it is fear that's been allowed to fester for a very long time, power channelled through means of desperation rather than control. He wonders how much can be re-learnt, habits and instinct and experience, all such vital parts of what makes a person. He wonders if "too late" really has come and gone.

Either way, Louis' fate is in his hands now, clouded and heavy as it is, and Harry has no choice but to try to carry it. He owes him that much.

***

The Halls are just as busy as Harry expects them to be upon arrival, and he barely has time to take in the new groups before he's rushed over to a team attempting to use multiple crystals on someone who seems to have suffered bad burns across several points. It takes all his concentration for the first hour, and Harry just knows that his break will have to be spent filling in this significant gap in his knowledge, because while he's pleased to be considered good enough to take part, he isn't sure how much he's actually helping.

Around noon is when he becomes aware of the disturbance, more than usual, that keeps poking at his mind as if demanding attention. He's not the only one who seems distracted, several of the apprentices in the Halls have to take time out during the afternoon and Harry's fighting a headache through all of it that just won't go away.

"What do you think it means?" he asks Master Che during a quiet moment, absently tucking a few strands of his hair away.

"It could be anything," she murmurs, eyes on her clipboard. "We're at war, Harry. It's to be expected."

"Master Kenobi said in the last briefing that the Separatists are retreating further from the Core Worlds," he says quietly, voices always automatically muted in the Halls.

"Yes," she agrees, finally raising her gaze to look at him, "but the Sith have yet to reveal themselves."

Harry nods, and she doesn't have to say it out loud for him to know that they're far from victory still.

He's so distracted that it doesn't hit him until he's halfway home, that Louis must be suffering too.

He's on the couch this time, wrapped in a blanket with his head lowered towards his chest, eyes closed. As Harry crouches in front of him, he notices how his jaw is clenched shut, skin pale and clammy and body shivering with every breath.

"I can't keep it out," he mumbles. "Make it stop, please …"

"Don't shut it out," Harry orders, instinctively reaching for Louis' elbows to hold him in place, hold him together. "You need to make space for it. All of it."

"I can't …"

"Yes, you can. Come on, breathe with me. In, out. Come on, in …" Louis follows reluctantly, his breaths shallow at first but getting deeper at Harry's relentless instructions. "With every exhale, your mind will expand," he says, aware of the tremendous effort he's putting him through. "Keep breathing."

It takes a long time for Louis' breaths to even out, and the tremors to subside. Harry's still clutching his elbows, feeling the blood pumping ferociously beneath his fingers.

"I can see it," Louis whispers suddenly, eyes opening and staring – blind. "The dark side."

"Then you can also see the light," Harry tells him harshly, forcing Louis to look at him. "That's your centre. That's where you draw your power from."

"There's so much dark," Louis whispers, like he's afraid to admit it. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"It's getting stronger, all the time," Harry mutters, rubbing his thumbs in circles over the soft inner part of Louis' elbows. "But there's light at the centre of everything. Always."

Louis draws one shuddering breath before he slumps back against the couch, and Harry releases his grip, getting to his feet. "You should get some rest," he says, before stalking over to the kitchen. "I want you to mediate on this when you've recovered, keep your mind open."

"I need a holiday already," Louis mutters, shifting until he's laying horizontal on the sofa. "How do you constantly deal with stuff like this every day?"

Harry shrugs, hanging up his cloak. "It's all I was taught. I can't let somebody possibly die because I fancied a bit of a break." He brings two glasses of water over and puts the Holonet on with the volume lowered.

They sit in silence for the rest of the evening, Harry watching the news and Louis dozing intermittently. It's not much different to what Harry's used to, but Louis' presence is soothing even in sleep, his face smoothing out and lashes fanning across his cheeks.

They finally go to bed when night has settled properly and Harry has already been close to nodding off several times. For a split second, he wishes Louis would come with him and curl up under the covers in the master bedroom, but it's an odd thought and he pushes it from his mind, saying goodnight and closing the door behind him. He can still feel Louis on the other side of the flat, and it's better than being alone.

***

Louis starts actually doing what Harry instructs while he's away, buzzing with questions from the handbook when he comes home. They settle into a routine of physical and mental practice in the evenings, ending with Louis meditating and Harry fitting in studies. It's not ideal, and he still feels like there's never enough time in a day for everything, but so long as it doesn't ruin his Healing duties, Harry figures it's the best they can do.

But over time, Louis becomes agitated, his combat skills frequently dissolving into movements fuelled by frustration, only made worse when Harry reminds him to redirect.

"Stop it," Harry orders when he's had enough sloppy blows aimed in his direction for the majority of an evening. "Never attack when you're angry."

"I'm not angry," Louis spits, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath.

"Could have fooled me."

"I'm just so sick of this place," Louis huffs when Harry keeps staring at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm sick of doing the same things over and over."

"I've trained all my life," Harry tells him coolly. "Grew up in the Temple, mentored by Nick for a decade before I was Knighted. I told you it isn't an easy life."

"But what's the reward?" Louis mutters, crossing his arms defensively.

"If you don't already know, we might as well stop now."

They stare at each other for a long moment, Louis' eyes burning a deep blue under his growing fringe.

"Do you think you're good enough to stop training?" Harry asks, meaning to mock him slightly. It's a testament to how unaware Louis is of what's actually required when he nods, hands moving onto his hips and lips pressed thin.

"Maybe. I've only got your word to go on, and you told me I was already quite strong before we started. I don't need to do this every single day."

Harry takes a slow breath, moving past the irritation he's feeling across his body. "People are dying, right now, across the galaxy. Every day you waste is a day further you are from helping us. You do realise that what's happening on the news directly affects us all, don't you?"

"So why aren't we out there?"

"Because you wouldn't survive a day out there, Louis. You know nothing of war."

"And you do?"

Harry watches Louis' drawn face, his tense muscles and defensive stance. He's still so scared, Harry thinks, before he has time to raise his voice, to make some real damage. He still doesn't get it.

"Have you heard of the Battle of Geonosis?" Harry asks quietly, unsurprised when Louis shakes his head reluctantly. "It was the battle that started this war. Master Obi-wan Kenobi discovered the Separatist Leadership hiding on the planet, and got captured along with Anakin Skywalker and Senator Amidala, who had come to rescue him. A Jedi strike force was sent to help, followed by the Republic clone army." He pauses, watching the poorly concealed confusion on Louis' face. "Dozens of Jedi died before the Separatist army was defeated. Experienced, fully trained Jedi."

"You were there?" Louis asks uncertainly, his aggression having abated somewhat.

Harry nods, tugging at the bottom of his tunic absently. "I watched my friends die, and realised I couldn't be a part of the battlefield. So I followed the path to be a Healer, instead."

Louis nods, falling into a slightly less defensive stance. "How did you make it, if fully trained Jedi didn't?"

"I don't know," Harry allows, though it's something that's troubled him for a long time. "Nick thinks it's because there are things intended, that we were meant to achieve afterwards, and that for some reason I'm one of those people who still have something to offer."

"What about Skywalker? I think I've heard of him before."

"Most people have," Harry agrees, the corner of his mouth curving up into a tight smile. "He's important to the Order, trained by Master Kenobi himself. Exceptionally skilled in combat, brave … Some believe him to be the Chosen One. Destined to restore balance to the Force."

"How?"

"Destroying the Sith," Harry concludes.

"What do you think?"

"I think people will believe anything when they're desperate," Harry tells him sincerely. "And that one Jedi is not more or less vital to the cause than another."

"You don't like him very much, do you?" Louis guesses, fetching them some drinks and effectively ending their session, as well as their argument.

"I think he's arrogant, and far too much of a liability to be allowed to lead crucial missions on his own. I think he needs more time, which we don't have enough of.” He sighs. “The Council knows what they're doing."

Louis takes a seat at the kitchen island, pushing his sweaty hair back and gulping some water. He's wearing some of his new clothes, something black and tight-fitting that Harry assumes people wear outside the Temple, accenting his hip bones and waist. He's gained a bit of weight, a bit of muscle, and that's at least something to take credit for, Harry thinks absently.

He watches Louis for a little while, how he seems to have relaxed but his shoulders are still tight with unspent energy. He's tapping at the table, leg jumping, and Harry can recognise the signs of a caged animal ready to snap. He needs to get outside, and Harry needs to remind him how much there is left to learn.

"Get up," he decides, making up his mind.

"Why?"

"You want to get out so we're going out."

"Where?"

Harry sighs. "Do you need to question everything I say?"

"How do you think I've survived this long," Louis replies drily, but does rise from his seat.

"I'm taking you to the Temple," Harry explains, reaching for his cloak. "You want a challenge so I'm giving you one."

"But won't they see me? You could get in trouble," Louis reasons, gathering his own things and meeting him at the door.

"I know. But at this time there are only night workers. Everyone else is studying or resting."

"Is that all any of you do?" Louis asks, following close as Harry leads the way to his speeder, already feeling like there are eyes on him. "You just work and read and meditate?"

"We can't afford to do much else," Harry explains, starting the vehicle and waiting for Louis to strap in before leaving the hanger. "Perhaps after the war, there will be time for leisurely activities."

“If it ever ends," Louis says darkly.

"All wars do," Harry replies, a reminder to himself as much as Louis.

***

The Temple looks very different after dark. The great halls and corridors lie empty and silent where they're usually buzzing with life, but it's peaceful, and Harry's nervousness dissipates entirely when he watches Louis' disbelieving face as he looks around.

"It's massive," he breathes, following Harry towards the training centre on the other side of the Academy. "This is your home?"

"Indeed," Harry agrees, walking slowly to let Louis look properly at the pillars and arches stretching over head.

He takes Louis through the Temple, walking deeper and deeper until they reach the sparring arena. It was a risk, bringing him this far in and assuming the arena would be empty, but given the time of night and fact that not many training Jedi are actually at the Temple these days, it's worth it. Perhaps it's a sign that they were supposed to be here, or perhaps he's reading too much into how underpopulated the Temple really is.

Training equipment litters the edge of the bowl-like space, giving some variation to an otherwise empty white room. Just walking in gives Harry vivid memories of training in the low-gravity mode, and learning how to use his abilities in ways that could actually be used in combat. He can almost imagine Nick in the upper level control booth, playing with settings and testing all his limits, gruelling as it sometimes was.

Louis almost misses it when Harry tosses him a weapon across the room, but manages to catch it with the tips of his fingers, activating the saber just as Harry draws his own.

"This real?" Louis asks, holding it as if it's about to attack him.

"No," Harry smiles. "It can't hurt you, or me. You might get a burn if you're unlucky."

"What if someone comes in?" Louis presses, passing the saber from hand to hand, testing the weight.

"There are so many Jedi coming in and out of the Temple these days that nobody can really keep up," Harry shrugs, heavy with the knowledge that he's breaking so many rules by letting Louis, an effectively untrained and unconfirmed Padawan, into the arena. "Just pay attention to me."

He starts easy, shifting his weight and making Louis move around in order to stop the attacks. Louis stays largely defensive until he becomes comfortable with the feeling of two lightsabers colliding, then he starts striking out, movements sloppy but gaining confidence. His reflexes really are good, able to anticipate Harry's consciously planned moves a hairsbreadth before he strikes.

But this isn't the lesson Harry had in mind.

He doesn't give a warning before quickening the pace, striking out in ways that Louis' reflexes alone can't save him from.

"Use the Force," Harry instructs patiently as Louis hisses in pain, failing to stop a blow to his shoulder. "Don't think. Let it flow freely."

Louis misses yet another strike to his chest this time, lashing out in frustration that makes it far too easy to hit him again, making him drop his saber as he clutches his wrist.

"Pick it up," Harry says calmly, walking round him in a circle. "And control your anger."

He doesn't let up from that point onwards, and Louis only gets slower despite Harry's continued reminders and instructions.

"It's not fair!" Louis cries as Harry leaps out of reach yet again, barely advancing at this point.

"What's not fair?"

"Stop fucking running and fight me!"

Harry turns, blocking Louis' move and moving in for the kill. He doesn't even make it hard, just uses brute force behind every move until Louis crumbles and falls, ending up crouched on the floor with Harry's blade against his throat.

"Do you want to know why you fail?" Harry pants, so close now that he can make out the tiny beads of sweat on Louis' upper lip. "You think the Force is fickle, that it will only serve you when you're desperate." He steps back, lowering his blade before continuing. "But you're wrong. It's the other way around. It's you who can't be trusted."

Louis doesn't answer, head dropping so Harry can't make out his expression. He steps back, taking a slow breath and falling into a starting position. "Let's go again. Trust the Force to guide you."

Harry barely finishes talking before Louis rises, pushing through the space between them and striking out repeatedly. His grip is too tight, body not relaxed enough, and nothing Harry's told him seems to have actually registered. Louis may be losing the battle between them both physically, but Harry's aware that he's in far more danger of losing himself.

Instead of raising his lightsaber, Harry raises his hand, manipulating the particles in the air around them to fling Louis back against the wall so hard it knocks the breath out of him as the saber falls, deactivated, to the floor. Harry can feel it as he starts to struggle, but he's not using the Force at all anymore, only what little strength is left in his already spent body.

"Stop moving," Harry tells him, gentler this time. "Let go of your anger, Louis. You're much stronger without it." Louis looks up, eyes ablaze as he glares at him, but he does stop struggling, body relaxing in Harry's hold.

They freeze like that, Harry holding him up with his hand out, and Louis hanging limply a few feet off the floor. "Find your centre," Harry instructs, both of them pulling sharp breaths into their lungs. "You need to hear me."

Louis looks close to talking back, but Harry stares him down silently, willing to wait as long as he needs to. Finally, something seems to fall into place, and Harry can feel Louis reaching out tentatively, his eyes slipping shut.

"That's it," he breathes, not wanting to break Louis' concentration but needing to tell him he's on the right track. "Find it."

Slowly, Louis starts pushing back, like prying fingers off one by one until Harry's grip loosens and he can sense the real power underneath all Louis' anger. With a final shove, Harry stumbles back and Louis slides to the floor, slumping against the wall like a broken droid. Silence falls, and Harry feels something entirely different tug at his chest as he looks at Louis on the floor, eyes still closed and chest heaving. It pulls him forward, making him fall to his knees and wrap his arms around bony shoulders as best as he can, feeling them shake beneath his touch.

Louis doesn't respond at first, but it's like he's thawing out, and slowly he leans into it, neither of them speaking while they calm down together. Harry can feel the gentle push and pull now, the way they're helping each other, the way it's supposed to have been from the start.

"It's okay," he mumbles, perhaps redundantly, against Louis' neck, and then,"I'm sorry."

"I wanna go home now," Louis says, and Harry helps him to his feet, putting the practice sabers away before leading the way back through the Temple.

Louis doesn't talk at all as they drive home, but his presence is much stronger in Harry's mind now, and he doesn't have to ask to know that he's okay.

Harry doesn't have to try hard to convince Louis to lie down either, as they get into the flat, but he does feel strangely nervous to work in front of him, after the evening they've had. It's all he has left, the only thing that has kept the two aspects of his life separated. His own set of healing crystals are largely for practice or personal use, nowhere near as strong and specifically designed as in the Halls, but they work on bruises, small superficial injuries.

He sits down next to him on the bed, holding the crystals in one hand as he lets the other hover over Louis' injuries, harnessing the powers and transferring them to his skin. Louis watches him with hooded eyes, pushing himself up onto his elbows as Harry moves lower over his body. It's difficult to focus, his mind already tired and frayed from the fight, sweat drying uncomfortably on his skin, and Louis' so close, invading his consciousness in ways Nick never has.

"Turn over," Harry murmurs, tapping Louis' soft hip and holding his gaze while he moves, something heavy in the air.

There's a smattering of dark spots over his shoulder blades, and Harry doesn't allow himself to feel guilty for them as he lifts one knee over Louis' waist, resting his weight on the back of Louis' thighs in a foggy daze. He expects that he could fall asleep here, if he paused for long enough, lulled by soft breaths and warm skin.

Louis' back is clammy to the touch, but he's softer than Harry's used to, muscles undeveloped in the areas Harry knows become refined after extensive training. There's something mesmerising in the rise and fall of his breath, the curve of his spine, and how he doesn't talk or ask questions, allowing Harry to concentrate on smoothing out his skin, repairing blood vessels and relaxing muscles.

He doesn't move when he's done, his mind still wrapped tightly around Louis', checking and rechecking that he's not in any pain. It's not until Louis shifts slightly beneath him that Harry starts to draw back, slowly becoming aware of his body, the way it's pulsing with heat, shivers running down his thighs.

The world comes rushing back, and it's like room is too hot, his own heartbeat rushing loudly in his head.

Harry breathes an excuse, getting out of the room by gracelessly climbing over Louis and escaping to the bathroom. He leans over the sink, fighting to control his breathing, his thoughts, his rabbiting heart. The reflection staring back at him is someone Harry doesn't recognised, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. His body's betrayed him before, during extensive training, meditation, battle, but not like this.

He tries to recall any training, discussions with Nick about how to push past the urges he hasn't encountered for many years, but nothing springs to mind when he needs it.

He turns the shower on, working on autopilot and only paying attention to his breathing, the distant backdrop of water providing a wall between the room and the world beyond.

It happens before he's even aware that it's about to happen. His hands are slippery from the soap, brushing over a nipple, drifting lower on instinct and it takes no more than two or three strokes before it's over, a gasp escaping as he leans forward to brace himself against the tiles. He can't stop shaking, hands a little numb from the shock of it, and he has to lean his head against the wall, scared he couldn't hold himself up.

This is against the way he's supposed to be, something he's never even spared a thought to before. Ever since meeting Louis, he's become _so_ careless.

The shower was supposed to help him calm down, but he just feels more keyed up, unclean in a way that soap can't solve. A Jedi is supposed to be in tune with their body, but now he can't bring himself to trust it.

He thinks about going to bed, it's so late and he needs to rest, but he doesn't think he's settled enough to attempt it. Instead, he dresses in soft cotton and lets his hair curl loosely around his shoulders as he wanders into the kitchen, unsurprised but slightly apprehensive when he finds Louis already there, picking through a bag of nuts.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks carefully, taking in Louis' relaxed posture, his loose clothing. He looks sleepy, hair falling across his forehead in clumps.

"Better, I guess. Bruises are gone, so I'll be fine. Good shower?"

Louis puts the bag in the middle of the table, peeling open shells from a small pile in front of him. It's innocent small talk, but Harry feels a spike of shame in his chest, certain that Louis can sense something. He doesn't answer, ignoring the bag in favour of getting some water from the fridge.

"What happens when you turn to the dark side?" Louis asks then, as Harry takes a seat on the other side of the counter.

"It doesn't just happen overnight," he says, somewhat relived that Louis' taking it seriously enough to want to know, but he's still wobbly and the words take effort. "But it always ends the same. The dark side consumes. It only leads to suffering."

"But it's easier, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry allows, "but it's easy because you only have to give in to your fear and hatred."

"I don't want that," Louis states, eyes hard with resolution. "I think I felt it, before."

"I can feel that you've chosen light," Harry reassures him quietly. "You're closer, somehow."

"To you?"

"Well," he hesitates, so aware of his conflicting feelings and the implications of his words, "yes. Your presence in the Force is stronger. I can … reach you better."

"Like this?" Louis murmurs, and Harry can feel the push in his mind, like a small nudge for attention. He's got the same type of connection with Nick, but it was built over years of friendship, and it never made Harry feel like wanting to run away and hide. Louis isn't supposed to already have that bond with him, but then again, nothing about their time together so far can be considered normal, and perhaps it's different since Louis is an adult, capable of so much more than a young Padawan.

Harry nods faintly, giving back the same pressure and wondering how long it will take for him to adjust, to create a space in his mind just for Louis.

"I don't think I ever really thanked you," he says, picking at the shells on the table. "You know, for getting me off the streets."

"It's what we do," Harry replies.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to, and you're breaking laws and stuff for me. I'm just saying that I'd much rather be here than where I was."

And that's the thing, the reason why Harry can't bring himself to regret any of his choices, because he'd rather Louis be here too, and with Nick gone and all his friends being sent out to war, Louis' really all he has.

"Thank you, for keeping me company," Harry answers honestly.

He makes dinner, and they eat while swapping between channels, trying to find something interesting in the middle of the night. But Harry has to go in to the Halls tomorrow, and knows there's a lot to work through before he can perform at his best, so he turns in as soon as his dinner's settled.

***

He wakes up to the smell of cinnamon tea, a steaming cup placed precariously on his night stand.

"Sun's up," Louis tells him, and as Harry blinks awake he finds him sitting cross-legged at the bottom of his bed, hair still dripping from a shower. Harry hasn't noticed him using the sonics even once, seeming to prefer taking full advantage of the higher living standards that the upper levels allow.

"Thanks," Harry whispers, unused to speaking so early, and having company when he wakes. The tea is at a perfect temperature, and a good blend to start the day with, and Harry cradles it in his hands, propping himself up a little and sitting back against the wall.

Louis just sits there, looking like he's always been living here, like he frequently wakes Harry up with tea and sits at the end of his bed while he wakes up.

Harry shifts slightly, suddenly quite aware that he's naked under the sheets.

"I was born on Abafar," Louis says suddenly, eyes drifting to the big windows and the sunrise outside. "I hated it. Couldn't wait to get away."

Harry nods, a little pleased that he correctly assumed Louis to be from the Outer Rim. "I've rarely heard promising things about Abafar," he comments, thinking back to how resistant the planet is said to be to ally with the Republic, with their claiming neutrality being influenced by the Separatists. "So why Coruscant? You couldn't get much more different, and it's a long way to come."

"I just sort of ended up here by accident. Every ride I caught got me closer, and I realised how easy it is to live here under the radar," Louis shrugs, turning around a mug in his own hands. "It's so central that nobody really cares about the people living here, they're too busy making plans for other planets."

"What about your family?"

"They're probably fine," Louis says dismissively. "I never knew my father, but my mother told me a Jedi killed him."

Harry waits for Louis to look up before he says, "You know that's probably not true, don't you?"

"I think my father was a Jedi. I think he might have turned."

There's a heavy silence, neither of them moving as the words hover uncomfortably in the air between them. Harry can't remember ever hearing the name Tomlinson within the Order, but it's possible that Louis' father had been part of the Service Corps, having failed his Trials to become a Knight. Perhaps it had been enough to lead him down the wrong path.

"It would explain why you were so in tune with the dark side despite my trying to train you," Harry says at last, relieved now that Louis' opening up, but wary of the implications of his admission. "Have you always been overly Force sensitive?"

"I guess so. I never thought about it, but I ended up in trouble a lot, and it really saved me a few times."

Harry thinks back to the alleyway, can easily envision Louis falling back onto the Force a lot for protection, without understanding it.

"Did your mother know?"

Louis lifts his knees, wrapping his arms around them tightly. Harry can smell the citrusy soap on his skin, the weight of him on the mattress by his feet, and it's okay, he thinks. They'll be okay.

"She must have," Louis says. "I think she was afraid of me."

"Were you close?"

"Not really. I could always tell she was hiding something." Louis rests his chin on his knees, eyes fixed on the cup in Harry's hand. "What about your family? When did you come to the Temple?"

"I left them when I was very young, around three years standard," Harry explains. "So I never knew them. The other younglings in my clan, the Masters who trained us, that was my family."

"And Nick."

"Mostly Nick," Harry agrees, eyes scanning the room, the small details that he placed there.

"Do you miss him? Are you allowed to miss him?"

"I do miss him," Harry admits, unable to hold back a smile as he tucks a stray curl behind his ear, "but I'm not supposed to linger on it."

"How?"

"Mediation," Harry shrugs, "being mindful of your thoughts. But I am human. It takes effort to let things go."

"So," Louis shifts, leaning forwards. "You're not allowed relationships because of the distraction. But what if it's a one off thing, and you're able to just let it go and move past it? Has a Jedi ever done that?"

"Sex is an indulgence," Harry says quietly, the word feeling unclean as he tries to keep his voice even. "If you don't need intimacy, you shouldn't want it."

"But isn't there proper science about how it can actually help your health? Especially if your body naturally responds to it. You're only human, like you said."

"It's not a good use of energy," Harry tries weakly, holding onto the sheets and pulling his knees up, like a shield against Louis' dangerous ideas.

"What about getting off?"

"Louis, that's enough."

"Sorry," Louis says, sipping his tea and looking anything but sorry. "I just want to know."

"It's about finding a balance," Harry tells him diplomatically. "Doing what's right for you."

"And if what's right for you is the occasional fling of unattached sex, and that helps you direct your thoughts?"

Harry doesn't have an answer, feeling that same uncomfortable heat in his stomach again at the idea that some Jedi, and many people, may find that lifestyle suitable or enriching.

"I need to get ready," he says instead, putting down his tea and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Louis doesn't move, seemingly happy to be in the room, but now Harry feels like it's unsuitable. Before, he had no problems with nudity, connected it to nothing but a fresh start to his day, a natural state of being. But near Louis, there's an extra threat he can't risk.

"Do you mind?"

"Oh." Louis' gaze drops to the sheet that's slid down Harry's torso, only just covering his hips. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. "Yeah, fine."

Louis clears the room after a beat of nervous silence, and Harry still has to build himself up to properly getting out of bed after he's gone.

Something like shame settles in his stomach as he's getting dressed, glancing at himself in the mirror. He knows so little of the types of relationships people form every day out in the world beyond the Temple, and he has no idea what kind of experience Louis has. It makes him uncomfortable to think that he might go out some time, coming back smelling like someone else.

Perhaps there is the chance that other Jedi may have had experiences of the type that Louis suggested. Harry makes a note to find a way of asking Nick the next time he calls.

He's late to the Halls, and makes up by working through lunch again. He's convinced that everyone can see it on him, and this is exactly why he's not supposed to give in to temptations. It's far too distracting after just one mistake, and there's no way he can afford to make more.

"Are you feeling okay?" Master Che asks him quietly towards the end of the day, and Harry can only nod, admitting to not having slept well recently. "You're not the only one," she tells him with a resigned sigh. "Even the younglings are suffering."

"Do we know what it is, yet?"

Che shakes her head.

"No clear answers. Of course, the Separatists seem to be getting closer. There are many of them, and the younglings are untrained in blocking it out."

"This seems to be a difficult time," Harry agrees slowly, guilty that he's been so wrapped up in his own conflict that he hasn't spared enough thought for the war.

"But the Force will right itself, sooner or later," she mutters. "It always does."

He takes Louis to the Temple again that night, and it's an entirely new experience. Louis fights like a youngling but he doesn't lash out, and his control is growing. Harry goes easy on him, instructions revolving around combat techniques and manoeuvres, how to wield his lightsaber like an instrument.

Louis is much more responsive, now. It's like they pushed through a wall, and now he's learning fast, having already acquired the building blocks and studied the Forms in his handbook.

"That was good," Harry tells him sincerely when they take a break to catch their breaths. "You're progressing faster than I expected."

"All thanks to your expert training," Louis replies drily. "… Master."

Harry takes a swig of water, swallowing carefully. Then he tosses Louis his lightsaber.

"What are you doing?"

"That's a real lightsaber, so treat it with respect," Harry tells him before fetching one of the training remotes, letting the small thing hover in the air between them. "Let's see what you can do with it."

"What's this going to –" Louis cuts off, swearing loudly at the droid for shooting small shocks at him.

"Trust your instinct," Harry says mildly, sitting on the floor and watching. Louis scowls at him, but follows his advice. His response time is sloppy at first, but Harry reminds him to act without fear, and he starts catching the shocks with his saber.

"Good," Harry says quietly. "Trust the Force. It won't fail you."

He watches in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way Louis' body moves in ways only the Force could allow, before picking up a helmet and holding it out. "Now try again, wearing this."

"But then I can't see," Louis frowns, slipping it on. "How do I stop the shots?"

"Your eyes can deceive you," Harry explains, going quiet so that Louis can start. This is harder, with Louis being caught out half the time, but he does start trusting the Force eventually, and it shows in how easily he moves, predicting the aim earlier and earlier.

"I think that's enough," Harry says at last when Louis' movements start showing signs of exhaustion. "It's been a very productive day."

"When can I have my own?" Louis asks as he re-emerges from the helmet.

"When you're ready," Harry tells him patiently. "But if you want your own you have to make it yourself."

"What, like, out of spare parts? Easy." Louis grins, but Harry doesn't match it.

"How do you think the blades are made? You have to build it using the Force alone, fusing the molecules together one by one and aligning the pieces perfectly unless you want it to explode and take your arm off when you active it.”

"Bullshit. Did you make yours?"

Harry spares him a smug glance, collecting their equipment into a bag. "I made mine when I was fifteen, Louis."

“How, exactly?”

“It's all in your book. I suggest you study it well and consider your options.”

***

The next few weeks are surprisingly uneventful. Harry does his best to keep his work and studies afloat while spending almost every night in the training facilities with Louis, continuing to expand on his knowledge and skill, but he knows he can't keep it up in the long run. Sometimes he'll nod off while Louis' training, being woken by a gentle tap on his shoulder or, if he's unlucky, a loud “oi!” shouted in his face. There isn't time to consider Louis' impact on his life, or the consequences, and as time ticks by, Harry forgets he was ever alone. He forgets that Louis was never supposed to have been his Padawan.

Master Che starts refusing to let him work through lunch, so he spends the break in an empty single use therapy room off to the side of the Main Hall, trying to sleep or recharge, anything to keep himself going through the next part of the shift, and it's all worth it, because he's still saving people, and Louis has stopped fighting him every step of the way.

Louis seems heavily invested in making his own lightsaber, reading up on it and sourcing out extra reading on Harry's Holopad to discuss in the soft-edged mornings before Harry leaves.

"I got you the parts," he says one day when he comes home to find Louis deep in reading, having not showed up at the Temple after Harry's shift like he usually does.

"What?" he says as he looks up, confusion flashing over his features as Harry puts his bag down on the table. Seconds later, he's pulled out a selection of bits and pieces that Harry found at the Temple to match the kind of style Louis has been talking about.

They're mostly parts collected from broken sabers that would have been recycled anyway, and there are plenty enough for Louis to still make a Force-influenced decision on each component.

From his pocket, Harry pulls out a handful of Adegan crystals.

"They're blue," Louis says, reaching out to pick one from Harry's hand.

"I know," Harry smiles. "I thought the colour would suit you."

Louis grins at him, putting aside his reading and picking up the pieces, turning them over in his hands and trying to levitate the crystals. "Can we start now?"

" _You_ ," Harry says, pointing a finger at him, "can start whenever you want. But you're on your own with this. Only you can decide if you're ready."

"I am," Louis says immediately, collecting the parts and rising from the chair. "You'll see."

Harry takes a seat on the chair Louis just vacated and drinks a few sips of water, watching the door close to Louis' room.

After that, it's just a waiting game. It takes a long time to build a lightsaber, and Harry spends several days in blissful silence while Louis stays in his room.

It's not until he comes home on the third day and Louis' still not come out that Harry goes over to the door, reaching out with his mind. Louis' in deep mediation, to the point where Harry doubts he'll even recognise his presence, mind completely disconnected from his body as he pours all of his strength into the crystals, fusing all the molecules of the blade together. Harry checks his body first, noticing dehydration and sore muscles but nothing too serious or worth interrupting him for. As he moves deeper, he becomes aware of images and fleeting memories, everything Louis' using to charge his weapon with positive energy and the Force visions he catches glimpses of. He's about to pull back, satisfied with his apprentice's work, when he recognises something, a voice, a sense of familiarity.

He gently moves deeper, curious even as he knows not to be. The voice is himself, from a conversation last week when Louis asked for the story behind a discussion in the margins of his handbook, contributed to by generations of Jedi. It was a list of sayings the Padawan's Master had been using that they didn't agree with, Harry's own contributions pointing out multiple absurd sayings by Nick, and Louis asked for re-enactments of Nick's reaction when he found out. It had been an entertaining conversation, enjoyed by both of them, but not one Harry would expect Louis to turn to in order to power his crystal.

He withdraws then, ending up staring at the blank door for a few moments as he collects himself. It only makes sense though, he thinks, as he slowly moves across the room to turn on the Holonet. Of course the training has been good for Louis, giving him a sense of purpose, of belonging. He might not be part of the Order, but the Force keeps them all together regardless, and the bond between Master and Padawan has its own significant nature in forming a Jedi. Since Louis doesn't seem to have many good memories from his past, he has no choice but to draw on the memories he shares with Harry. It's perfectly logical.

Harry doesn't really pay attention to the show on screen, eyes consistently drawing back towards Louis' door, though he refuses to let himself try to cross this line of privacy at such a crucial time.

Towards evening, he's startled out of his thoughts by the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber being activated.

He reacts on instinct, drawing his own and turning just in time to counter Louis' strike, green and blue sparks flying as their blades collide.

"It's working!" Louis yells, jumping back and swinging his lightsaber triumphantly.

"Easy," Harry tells him but doesn't quite manage to keep the smile off his face. "It's not a toy."

"Toys don't require starvation to build," Louis agrees. "This is my baby."

He swings again, and Harry gently taps his attack away. They spar back and forth, jumping around the flat and climbing over furniture in a dramatic sparring battle. Louis' enthusiasm is infectious, his laughter ringing off the walls of the flat as they switch between combat forms, backing each other into corners only to give in and move back to the middle of the floor.

"You should rest," Harry tries to tell him, moving around the couch in a weak attempt to keep Louis at bay. "And eat."

"But I've never felt so strong," Louis argues.

"You're sweating."

"Then I might as well keep going," Louis responds easily, dancing around and throwing a few playful flicks of his lightsaber towards Harry. "Are you scared I'll accidentally beat you?"

"Perhaps if you were better rested," Harry smiles, reluctantly endeared by how Louis holds himself like an old fashioned pirate, saber forward and other arm curved upwards behind him. "Do you really think people do that?"

"Well, there must be some sort of purpose to it."

Once again, Harry tries to jump out of Louis' reach but he's let his guard down, concentration weakened, and ends up tripping over the couch, landing on the soft cushions in a heap. Louis' on him in a second.

Harry drops his lightsaber, the deactivated handle falling to the ground, but his attention is on Louis, on his knees locked around Harry's waist as they stare at each other.

Louis' lightsaber is one of the brightest shades of blue that Harry's ever seen, held confidently in his hands as he lowers the blade against Harry's throat. It rests only an inch away, but Harry knows without checking that Louis is holding his arm steady.

"I win," Louis states boldly, still catching his breath and letting his full weight rest over Harry.

He's overwhelmed by it, Louis' damp fringe lit bronze by the setting sun outside, his body hot and scent wrapping around Harry in their proximity.

"You do," Harry breathes, a sense of complete calm settling over him as he bears his throat.

Louis deactivates his lightsaber then, tossing it to the side, and Harry reaches out, fingers twining in his hair as if by their own accord. He doesn't know if he meant to push him away, but it's not at all what happens. Louis' eyes are as bright as his blade as they come into focus, and it only takes a moment of carelessness, the tiniest slip of control, for Harry to pull him down the rest of the way, lips touching in a burst of heat, just like the first time they'd been this close.

Louis shifts above him, leading their soft kiss into something more, teasing his lips apart with his tongue, and that's when the sirens start, accompanied by a low rumble seeming to be all around them.

"What's that?" Louis looks confused, a little scared, and sits up to squint at the window with his hands resting on Harry's chest.

"There's an attack on the city," Harry breathes, climbing out from under Louis to get to the window. Ships are littering the sky, small explosions like fireworks, the sounds coming delayed a moment later.

"We've got to get to the Temple."

"I can't go there," Louis protests as Harry reaches out for his lightsaber, getting it to fly into his hand.

"You can't stay here," Harry tells him, already crossing the room. "This flat might not be here in the morning."

This time, when he turns around, Louis looks terrified and Harry has to walk back to him, touching his shoulder gently. "You'll be alright," he promises. "Focus on the light. Don't be scared."

"I'm not."

"Good. Let's go then."

There are already hoards of Separatist landing crafts touching down on the streets as they leave the flat. The skies are flooded with scared civilians trying to get home, crashing because they're not prepared for this event, and Harry knows instinctively that they can't fly to the Temple without getting caught in it.

"We have to go on foot. Clear some of the droids on the way," Harry tells Louis, because that's the right thing to do, even if neither of them are extensively combat-ready. "It's just like practising in the arena, okay?"

"There's no people on their side?"

"No people. All useless droids with questionable aim. Stay alert, and keep close to me."

They have no choice but to jump between buildings in order to get down to street level. Harry leads the way, and Louis follows somewhat clumsily, able to use the Force to extend his jumps but still wobbly when it comes to utilising it for landing. Harry catches his hand every now and again to make sure he doesn't fall, and Louis clutches it like a lifeline, face pale as he looks down into the darkness below.

Harry spares a moment to assess him, registering the apprehension and discomfort, but finding nothing too out of the ordinary. He's surprisingly stable for someone being thrown fresh into battle. But as Louis looks up, his eyes hard and grip tight on his weapon, Harry thinks he gets it. Louis' been in enough rough situations to understand the mindset required. He's practically born for this.

When they finally reach the same level as the majority of the droids, Harry can feel a layer of sweat on his neck, concern for the civilians caught in the fight, and for Louis. He has no idea why Coruscant is suddenly a target, but that doesn't matter any more. Perhaps he'll find out when it's over.

"They're clumsy, and easily confused," Harry states softly, wishing they'd found time sooner to practice taking down actual droids. "Trust yourself."

Louis attacks first, ploughing through the first wave, and Harry's hot on his heal, covering his back as they move slowly towards the Temple. He can see the flashes of other lightsabers in the distance, of blasters going off somewhere to his right, and it's just like the battle on Geonosis, everything erupting into chaos around him.

He doesn't think either of them could have made it on their own, but as a team they have the advantage of their Force bond. Harry can tell where Louis is at all times, like a radar in his head where droids and destroyers all make up one target while Louis' the arrow pointing towards home.

The fleets of droids get worse as they get onto larger streets, and they seem to constantly be filling in from the sides, some droid ships colliding directly with buildings to send rubble crashing down, and Harry can't afford to stay out longer than he has to. The Jedi who are fighting are likely either untrained or already injured, and he needs to get to the Halls.

They pass a fallen Jedi on the way, and Harry stops without thinking to pick them up, hauling them over his shoulder while Louis instinctively covers him. The Temple is close, he shouldn't have far to carry them, but he's getting tired, and Louis must be close to exhaustion at this point, but they're both running on adrenaline.

A massive star fighter appears in the sky, just as they reach the landing strip in front of the stairs leading up to the entrance. Harry has just enough time to pull Louis back, watching as hundreds of battle droids start pouring out, readying their guns.

"We can't get past!" Louis' shouting in his ear. "What do we do?"

Harry doesn't have time to answer before another ship comes sweeping in from behind them. Without thinking, he drops to the ground, shielding the unconscious Jedi and dragging Louis with him as the ship starts firing, clearing everything in its path, missing them with just a few inches as it moves past.

"It's one of ours," Harry yells, climbing to his feet and gripping the unconscious Jedi in his arms once more. "This is our chance. Run!"

There are more droids approaching, but they're too far away to be a threat, talking to each other and taking several seconds to collectively notice the two Jedi running towards the Temple, pointing them out to others.  
  
Shots ring out all around them, and Harry falters as he feels a sharp burn on his shoulder, but it's just a graze. It was unlikely that they'd both get to the Temple unharmed, but luckily a partial blaster wound is a quick job to heal.

Inside, the Temple is empty, everyone available either hidden away for safety, or out on the streets.

"Get to the lower levels," Harry says urgently, trying to push Louis towards the stairs. "It's the safest place to be."

"You're hurt," Louis says as if he didn't even hear him.

"I'm going to the Halls of Healing, I'll be fine."

"When will I know to come up?"

"I'll come get you," Harry promises. "When it's over, I'll find you. Now, go!"

Louis seems unconvinced, but Harry watches him go, taking the precious seconds to recognise and allow the pain in his shoulder, letting it pass by.

The Jedi he's holding is still unconscious by the time he makes it to the Halls, laying them down on a clear surface and shrugging off his cloak. Che is already there, along with most of the other Healers, trying to attend to the significant overflow of patients, more being carried in on stretchers even as she walks over to him.

"I'm glad you made it," she tells him, touching his uninjured shoulder gently. "Are you hurt?"

"Blaster," Harry explains, "but it's not too bad. I can heal myself."

"Whenever you feel ready, we could use your help with the patients that are almost stable enough to leave the Halls. There just aren't enough beds here, and we're running out of potential floorspace for quick bedding."

Harry excuses himself, and finds that using the crystals to heal himself is exactly what he needed to enforce a relaxed state. He's been scattered since Louis constructed his lightsaber, and the anxiety in the air of the Halls is making it much more difficult to build focus.

He's exhausted now, from the amounts of adrenalin pumping through his blood subsiding, disorientated from the battle, and sometimes he can still feel Louis' mouth on his, but there isn't time, he tells himself. There isn't time for any of it.

The patients he discharges are mostly sent straight out to the streets, if they're able enough, and Harry loses track of what he's doing to cope with it, working on autopilot through the cycle of clearing patients and skipping admin protocol, only to watch people he helped days ago be carried back into the Halls.

Night falls but the sky remains lit up, like a thousand fireworks going off at a distance, tainting the flickering light flooding in from the broad windows. At some point, they get word from the Senate. Chancellor Palpatine has been kidnapped by the Separatists, they say. General Kenobi is apparently on his way to lead a rescue mission, and Delta Squad have been dispatched on the streets as backup, finally making their fight seem a little more equal.

Every few hours, Harry's given a fifteen minute break, and he spends it struggling to achieve a restorative meditation, drawing what little energy he can and supplementing it with adrenaline shots. He gets a strange nostalgia for his first days of working at the Halls, trying to learn as much as possible in as little time as he could manage.

It's almost dawn when everything suddenly changes.

He feels it like a punch in the gut, dread pooling in his spine as he looks around in panic. No one else is reacting, and the Halls look just like they did a minute ago, but Harry feels as though his entire world is turned upside down.

He's running before he's even aware he's doing it, feet thundering down the stairs to the empty entrance hall. Louis isn't in the Temple, he knows that, but he has to stop and close his eyes in order to reach out, searching for him inside of himself as well as outside.

He's fairly close, probably not wanting to wander too far, maybe caught in the action. Harry can barely breathe, running out onto the steps and trying to draw himself towards Louis, fighting through the droids in his way. He knows his movements are reckless, and that fear is ruling his thoughts, but he keeps going, getting closer.

Without the Force bond, Harry might have missed him, tucked into a doorway on a shadowed side street.

There are no droids left in the area, just pieces of them spread across the ground along with other debris, smoke coming from a few nearby buildings. Louis' curled on his side, boneless as Harry turns him over carefully, to check for injuries.

"Louis …" he mutters, sweeping a few strands of hair from his face, feeling the burns and blaster wounds that litter his body. He's still breathing, but he's running out of time.

Harry rests Louis' head on his lap, fingers spread over his chest as he forces his own consciousness into Louis' broken body. He's never performed a full healing trance before, but he'll be damned if he isn't going to try now.

Louis' mind is weak when Harry wraps himself around it, relieved that there isn't too much resistance. It still feels invasive, but there's no other way to bring Louis back to a stable condition quickly. The location is risky, but somehow quieter than the Halls, so Harry's able to shut his surroundings out, focus on healing the parts of Louis that are the most critical.

He doesn't think he'd have been able to do it for anyone else, not in his state, and not like this, with no help and no safety precautions. But Louis remains deep in trance when Harry pulls back, heartbeat steady and breaths coming out slow and even. He has no way of knowing if it's enough but he has to get them to safety, somewhere away from the Halls if at all possible.

When he looks up, the sky has cleared, and the enemy ships are gone. It seems the battle is finally over.

Harry picks Louis up, adjusting him in his arms and heading back to the Temple. There are scattered parts everywhere, and still the occasional droid stumbling around. Harry spares them a wave of his hand, throwing them back against whatever surface is closest to disable them, and he's near collapsing by the time he gets back.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains is several levels up, and thankfully undamaged by the battles overhead. Harry locates one of the grottos, his personal favourite being a small cave-like structure hidden by overhanging foliage that he has always turned to when he needs a quiet space in the Temple to call his own.

Taking his cloak off, he spreads it on the ground, lowering Louis onto it and lying down next to him. He really should be reporting back at the Halls, making sure Master Che knows he's alright, but he doesn't think he could get up again even if he tried. Louis' warm next to him, stable for now, and Harry doesn't want to leave him.

He digs out his beacon transceiver, sending a short message to Che that he's taking some time to recover, and apologising for leaving without warning. His eyes are heavy when he drops the communicator, but there's no guilt any more in curling closer to Louis for warmth.

He wakes up to the soft sound of dripping water, the smell of damp earth and flowers wafting through the air. The garden is empty, and as peaceful as ever, sunlight streaming through the large windows and reflecting on the surface of the fountains. There's a message on his transceiver, a call for everyone to attend a debriefing at noon.

His body feels like lead, limbs wrapped around Louis while they were sleeping. A quick assessment reveals that he's healing well, breaths even and heart beating strong. Ideally, Harry would like to stay with him a while longer, spend more time checking on his health, but noon is fast approaching, and he needs to look halfway presentable for his peers. Louis needs the sleep, and Harry doubts anyone has the time to spare wandering in the garden at this time.

He showers in the dormitories reserved for on-call staff, and borrows a set of clean robes, throwing his old ones in the bin. The Temple is mostly quiet, and Harry wonders how many Jedi are still in the Halls or out on the streets, how many of them made it past dawn.

The cafeteria is full of Jedi poking at untouched food, many of them clearly fresh from the Halls, some falling asleep at their tables. Everybody available seems determined to attend the debriefing, at whatever cost to their own comfort. Harry manages to keep down a simple breakfast, and takes a cup of tea with him to the debriefing room, where Master Kenobi is already setting up the screen, Skywalker notably missing from his side.

"Good to see you, Styles," he says with a faint smile that Harry does his best to return.

"And you," he says sincerely, relief taking away some of the tension caused by the mass loss they have all faced as he takes a seat.

The briefing isn't long, but it's clear that things have taken a big turn for the better. The mission to rescue the Chancellor was successful and Count Dooku was taken down in the process.

"However," Kenobi explains, "that leaves General Grievous, the remaining leader of the Confederacy military, and the Senate has already vowed to continue the war until he is found."

"Do we know where he is?" A young Jedi asks, distinct haircut showing them to still be a Padawan.

"I'm afraid not," Kenobi replies, "if we did, I would be there now."

The Jedi shuffles awkwardly, nodding and trying to sink lower in the seats, and Harry feels a pang of sympathy, having been in that situation many times as an apprentice, speaking without proper reflection.

"But it's only a matter of time," Kenobi states firmly, turning to address the room at large. "It seems we may tentatively assume that we are finally nearing the end of this war."

***

Harry sinks to his knees the moment he gets back to Louis' sleeping form, checking his progress and heart rate, taking his hand gently in his. It seems Louis' almost fully healed, and Harry wants to laugh with relief, still finding it hard to believe he'd managed such a thing.

It takes a while to wake Louis up from the trance, his mind fragile in this state and Harry's lack of experience makes him hesitant. It's worth the wait though when Louis finally opens his eyes, blinking twice before finding Harry's face.

"Hi," he starts, pressing a hand to Louis' chest when he tries to sit up. "Take it easy, you're still in recovery."

"Where are we?"

"In the Temple," Harry tells him quietly, hand hovering uncertainly near Louis' shoulder. He's not sure what's appropriate anymore. "The battle's over. You're safe."

"I got shot," Louis mumbles, fingers tracing his stomach where Harry knows he has scars now.

"But you're better now," he tells him, finally deciding to reach for Louis' hand. "You scared me."

Louis looks at him with for a moment, eyes unreadable, before he says, "I thought Jedi didn't get scared."

"I'm still human," Harry reminds him, keeping his voice muted because it feels strange to admit such feelings within the Temple walls. He pauses, collecting himself for a conversation that he knows might cause ripples between them. "I told you to stay in the Temple. You directly disobeyed me, and I had to abandon my post to find you. If I hadn't got to you and performed a healing trance in time, you'd be dead."

Louis doesn't answer immediately, uncertainty coming off him in waves, and Harry doesn't let go of his hand, but he's irritated, working to dispel his anger now that Louis is set to recover without a problem, now the danger has passed.

"I'm sorry," he says at last. "I just couldn't stand it."

"Couldn't stand what?"

"Being useless, sensing all those deaths. I wanted to help."

Harry wants to argue, but it's pointless. He knows why Louis did what he did, and it shouldn't even surprise him. He just wishes he weren't so stupidly brave about it.

"You're not ready," he sighs, finally. "But you will be."

"We don't have time for 'will be'," Louis argues. "It's too close. And I don't think I ever really understood how big this all is, before. I didn't see it like you did."

Harry lets him talk, relieved that he finally sees the threat for what it is. "You could have stayed closer to the Temple, or helped by moving injured Jedi closer so we could find them."

"But instead I took out a lot of droids on my own. I felt it was more important to remove threats from doing more harm."

"Patience," Harry says, closing his eyes in an attempt to centre himself, letting go of the fear still lingering in the darker corners of his mind. "You have to learn patience."

Louis doesn't reply but he lets go of Harry's hand, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Harry doesn't say anything, tired of arguing and tired of taking responsibility.

"I want to go home," Louis mutters, getting to his feet gingerly. "Am I permitted?"

"Fine," Harry sighs, reaching up to re-tie his hair, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest with the familiar action. "I have to go back to the Halls, I took too much time to rest, and we've got more overflow than ever. Take one of the speeders."

Louis looks a bit uncertain for a second, like he didn't expect that answer at all, but then he nods and turns, limping slightly as he stalks off through the greenery. Harry lets out a long breath before climbing to his feet too, heading off towards the Halls.

***

He stays until he can't anymore, exhaustion creeping up on him as another night rolls around. Master Che comes back from an extended break to find him slumped by one of the beds, having finally succeeded to put another patient in a healing trance.

"Harry," she says gently, making him stir. "You've exceeded all expectation tonight, and it's time for you to go home."

He wants to stay, a faint anxiety about going back to Louis causing him to hesitate. Master Che mistakes it for his eagerness to help, which isn't untrue.

"Go home," she tells him again, gentle tone masking the order. She helps him to his feet, easing him towards the exit, and he doesn't have the energy to fight her. "You're not to come back until you feel you've had enough rest that you can work properly. If I sense that you're not, I'll send you away again."

"There's a patient I couldn't put into a trance," Harry starts, pointing vaguely across the room, "they're not strong enough alone and –"

"I'll take care of it, and send you the relevant documents to increase your studies," she informs him compromisingly, a kind look in her eyes that Harry can't help but cling to. He'll never feel like he's done enough here, but sometimes Master Che reminds him that he's getting closer to something he can be satisfied with.

Louis isn't awake when Harry stumbles through the door, and he's distantly disappointed. He'd been working up confidence for what they'd talk about, how he'd have to check Louis' injuries and keep himself neutral.

He can feel him on the other side of the closed door, something that feels almost instinctual at this point, but he can't detect any pain or distress so he leaves it, heading straight for his bedroom where he unceremoniously drops his uniform on the floor before crawling into bed, muscles aching and mind a jumbled mess. Sleep catches up with him before he has time to sort it, but it doesn't matter. The battle's over. There's finally a little bit of time on their side.

He's woken by a heavy weight settling over his hips, squirming around. There's a headache settling behind his eyes, making itself known as soon as he squints at the sunlit room. Louis is, predictably, the reason he's awake, and Harry has the initial, rogue thought of pulling Louis down and holding him there with all his limbs so he can go back to sleep.

He doesn't though, because he doesn't trust his body around Louis and he's already frayed at the edges, the warmth of Louis' thighs seeping through the sheets around his hips.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Louis says, and Harry feels wide awake now, muscles tensing up. Louis' almost completely bare, skin milky in the soft light of dawn, eyes bright. Slowly, he moves a hand to Harry's chest, palm flat over his heart as he holds his gaze. "You're still scared," he states, leaning in a bit closer. "Control it."

Harry lets out a faint gasp, feeling himself responding to the firm press of Louis' thighs.

Louis quirks his lips into a smile, but Harry only feels trapped, far beyond his comfort zone and like he has no control over the situation.

"It's out of line for a Padawan to speak so candidly," he tries, but Louis just smiles wider, tapping over his heart, and Harry is so sure that both of them can hear it picking up speed without his permission.

"I'm not your Padawan," he whispers, leaning in so close Harry can smell the warmth on his skin, lips brushing his neck in the softest of kisses. Harry lets out a breath through his nose, eyes fluttering close as he tries to repress the urge to move his hips. Heat is blooming across his skin, his limbs tensing and relaxing seemingly of their own accord as his hands drift down Louis' body to grip his hips, fingertips pressing into soft muscles.

Louis presses down, once, twice, and Harry can't stand the slow burn of it, pushing until Louis rolls over and he's on top, holding him down in some poor imitation of regaining control. Louis moans, loud in the complete silence of the room, but Harry can't seem to make a sound, breath getting caught in the back of his throat even as he slips in between Louis' legs, chasing something he knows he shouldn't want.

They kiss, uncoordinated and wet, Louis biting and Harry gripping his wrists to hold him still, to have some semblance of authority over what's happening.

It's all a mess, the blanket tangled around their legs restricting movement, and the air feels like it's heating up, but Louis' skin is hotter, his slim wrists pressing a quick pulse into Harry's palms. Louis rocks up, his back arching to fit his chest against Harry's, and he presses down without thinking. It's all instinct, trust, letting his body guide his actions. Familiar, and yet completely removed.

The movement is jerky, imprecise, but Louis gasps and Harry does it again, so close to his own orgasm already, entirely incapable now of holding anything back. He doesn't put up a fight when Louis turns them again, riding him fast and hard for just a few seconds more until Harry comes with a choked off sob and Louis buries his face in his neck, shuddering.

The silence that follows rings deafeningly in Harry's head, and the heat of the room feels like suffocating. He feels unclean, like after that shower but so much more, and Louis is heavy against him, slightly clammy where his forehead tucks into Harry's throat. He can't breathe, can't move with the silk tangling around his legs and the realisation that he can't get up without exposing himself further.

He hasn't cried for years, but he think he might now, so utterly lost in the face of his own humanity.

Louis shifts, looking up and brushing some hair from Harry's forehead clumsily. "What's wrong?" he murmurs.

"I'm just so confused," Harry confesses, a wetness in his throat he can't seem to swallow down.

"It's just sex."

"Is it?"

Louis' thumb touches his face, smearing tears across his cheek before he leans in suddenly to press a kiss to Harry's mouth. "Maybe not,” he admits quietly.

The kiss is probably intended to sooth him, but the confirmation just makes everything feel more unforgivable. Perhaps "just sex" could be eventually compartmentalised and moved on from, but only if it remained unattached.

He shifts, trying to free himself and feeling an irrational panic lodge in his chest when he can't kick out from the sheets because Louis' still there, still being so gentle.

"Lou, just," he taps at his chest weakly, torn too much between pulling him closer and needing to _breathe_.

"Sorry," Louis mumbles, sitting back so Harry can struggle free, feet landing on the floor heavily. He's naked and sweaty, hair tousled as he sweeps it from his face, and all he wants is to restore some sense of normality, to escape for long enough to find the pieces of himself he seems to have lost somewhere along the way.

He locks himself in the bathroom and stands under the scorching shower spray for a long time, just breathing. Monitoring his breathing is something he's been trained to do for as long as he can remember, and there's finally a sense of peace in leaning back against the chilled wall and closing his eyes, counting the seconds between breaths. It's addictive, something to cling to for as long as he needs to hide from himself. Louis is still in the flat, but for the first time, he tries to distance himself, pulling all his awareness inwards and doing a routine body scan.

By the time he steps out, wrapping himself in a dry towel, he feels like he might be stable enough to examine the place in his mind that Louis' managed to carve for himself, inflamed and swollen as it is.

His utility belt is on the bedroom floor along with his discarded robes. He picks it up and moves to the bed that Louis seems to have vacated only a minute or so ago, the sheets smelling fresh and new, cool to the touch as he sits down. There's no guarantee at all that Nick will be available at this time, but he's willing to try.

Master Bunetta answers first, telling him to wait a moment while Nick comes in from the hangar bay, newly returned from an off-world call. Harry wasn't prepared for small talk, but he makes it through, nervously swapping information about the battle of Coruscant. Bunetta has worked closely with both him and Nick over the years, so he picks up on Harry's mood, but he manages to pass it off as a remnant of the battle with a shaky smile.

Nick gets back just as Harry's starting to feel the distress rise again, dwelling too much on the battle and everything he's handled in the last few days. As soon as Nick settles in front of the lens, and they take a moment to sense each other out, he frowns, like he's felt something he'd not expected, and Harry shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He's never felt so far from the true way of the Force before, so much like he's betrayed his Master's teachings.

"Are you alright?" Nick asks him seriously. "We were just told about the invasion."

"I'm fine," Harry replies. "Just really tired."

Nick nods, studying him for a moment before he says, "but that's not why you called me."

"No," Harry admits, "and I'm sorry to bother you –"

"It's no bother."

"Okay," Harry says hesitantly. "I wanted to ask you something, and it may not seem important but I've got to know."

"Go on."

Harry bites his lip, clasping his hands tightly in his lap. "Can love exist without jealousy?" he says at last.

Nick raises an eyebrow delicately, leaning in a bit closer. "Harry," he says gently, "is this about your … apprentice?"

Harry doesn't immediately answer, but that's a bigger giveaway than speaking. Nick sighs, lifting his hand out of Harry's sight, followed by the soft click of a door locking.

"How are things going with him? The training?"

"Good. He constructed his own lightsaber," Harry recounts, a small blossom of pride in his chest.

"Made from spare parts and crystals you took from the Temple?"

The pride twists, manifesting into a heavier feeling as Harry nods.

"And you love him?"

It's typical Nick, and Harry should have seen it coming, but it still manages to throw him off. He's not even sure that's the point, though he can't pretend it's entirely irrelevant either.

"How should I know?" he says, rather bitterly. "I'm not allowed to dwell on it."

"But you're not the first, H," Nick tells him, matter-of-factly. "And you won't be the last."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the Jedi have to remain in touch with their emotions, have a close connection to their bodies in order to understand the Force."

"Okay," Harry agrees, frowning a little. "If you shut off your emotions then you lose the ability to be compassionate."

"Exactly." It feels like one of their late night talks from before Nick relocated, Harry struggling to understand a concept and Nick taking time to guide him to the conclusion on his own. "And do you honestly expect, in the hundreds of generations of Jedi existence, absolutely none of them have become emotionally connected with somebody else?"

"Well, no," Harry says frustratedly, "but what about acting on it? What about giving in to it?"

"I understand your concern, but I think you're more afraid of the concept than the actual consequences," Nick tells him patiently. "Have you ever considered that love might be a force to draw from on its own? Perhaps equal in power to that which you have put your faith in all your life."

"What do you mean?"

"Simply put, doesn't he make you stronger?"

Harry pauses, taking it in. "But it also creates fear, doesn't it? Dependence and reliance on somebody else, and the fear of losing them. It distracts you."

"It is possible to feel love without fear. If you truly trust the feeling, and the person," Nick tells him. "After all, love takes many forms, not all of them romantic."

It's a pleasant concept, and Harry tries to match it to his own feelings carefully, assessing if he can reach that connection. "What about the distraction? The energy lost when you give in to urges? Isn't that like losing control?"

"So you have slept with him," Nick says obnoxiously, but not entirely unexpectedly. "I figured."

Harry tries to keep his expression neutral, but he knows he's blushing. Once again, he wonders if people can just _tell_. If there's something about his aura or general appearance that spells it out in flashing letters. "You don't seem terribly concerned," he says tightly.

"I think …" Nick says slowly, "that it's entirely up to you."

"But it's against the rules!"

"Harry," Nick sighs, holding up his hand. "You say that as if you have this opinion that every Jedi is pure as the driven snow. It's more common than you think that Jedi don't strictly follow the rules, even Kenobi has his moments, from what I've heard. It just isn't something that anybody talks about openly."

There's something in the way he says it, the careful shrug of his shoulders, and Harry feels like the floor has fallen from under his feet.

"Nick, are you … Is this something you know from experience?"

"Are you asking me if I've ever done things solely for pleasure?" Nick smiles faintly. "Of course I have. I eat sugar every now and again, I sleep in on my days off, I read for personal interest instead of the pursuit of knowledge on occasion. Not everything leads to the dark side, H."

It's a revelation, and one that makes Harry slightly uncomfortable. Put plainly, his words are obvious and not surprising, but Harry isn't used to having these things stated directly.

"I've been policing and limiting myself all my life for such things, and you're saying you've been casually breaking taught ideals all along?"

Nick laughs, his expression fond as he takes in Harry's horror. "Everyone finds their own methods to stay on the right path. I didn't want to influence yours."

"Okay, but. All those things, they're quite mild. Excusable, even. But love, intimacy. You're saying those can be considered on the same terms?"

"You're level headed," Nick says, talking slow as if Harry's particularly unintelligent. "For some people, perhaps those things may cause lapses in faith and dedication to the Code. But you're above that already. If anything, I think it could amplify your abilities."

"So you're encouraging me to go against my teachings?"

"Trust the Force," Nick says, like so many times before. "Trust that it will lead you where you need to be."

Harry doesn't reply immediately, finally turning inwards to feel out the sore spots where Louis' poked and prodded, changing him. Changing them both. "I think I do need him," he says at last. "I managed to pull off a healing trance for the first time the other day. “ He reaches out gently with his mind to find Louis, taking comfort in his stable presence in the living room. "He makes me push myself."

"Good,” Nick says bracingly. “I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Call me again if you need me, okay? I'll get back to you if I'm away."

"Thanks," Harry says heavily, still not ready for him to leave. "May the Force be with you."

“And may the Force be with you, my friend.”

***

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Louis says to him when he walks out the door.

"Don't be," Harry tells him, taking a seat by the kitchen island where Louis' perched, dressed in the old tunic he'd worn on that morning when it had all begun. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

"It will be," Harry amends, "once I get used to a new way of looking at things."

"Did you tell him?" Louis pushes a cooling cup of tea towards him, and Harry can sense that he would like to move his chair closer, but he's keeping his distance.

"I did. He didn't seem very surprised, actually."

Louis looks at him with his startling blue eyes, and Harry has no illusions at all as to why he finds him so arresting. "Why?"

"I don't know."

They drop the subject, moving to the living room where Louis watches the Holonet and Harry reads the chapters Master Che sent across. He considers going back in, but there's still a heaviness behind his eyes, a tightness across his shoulders and an ache in his lower back that he needs to ease up before he'll be allowed back. He still mostly keeps his distance from Louis, but their legs end up tangled in the middle of the sofa, both of them relaxing slightly once they've established a physical connection.

"I thought I was gonna die," Louis says suddenly, in the middle of an ad break. "In that alleyway. I tried calling for you, like, in my mind, 'cause I wanted to tell you … But then I remembered the kiss and thought that maybe you already knew."

"I did hear you," Harry tells him quietly. "I felt your pain as though it were my own."

"Is that normal for Jedi?"

Harry regards him for a few seconds, the way he seems so different now, another person entirely, to the man Harry met all those weeks ago. "No," he says at last. "Not that I know of. I have something similar with Nick, but not as physically vivid."

"Would you feel it if he got hurt?"

"Yes, but not nearly so strong, though it has been a while since I had to experience it." Harry pauses, wondering, if he'd have become this close to Louis if they lived apart, or if Nick were still on Coruscant to guide him through his feelings and monitor his frankly reckless decisions.

"What did you do, to save me?" Louis pushes his foot up along the inner part of Harry's shin, curiosity lit in his eyes, and Harry so rarely has the chance to discuss his work with others outside of his field that he isn't sure how to go about explaining it.

"I put you in a healing trance ..." he says carefully, glancing to where their legs are touching. "I'm not sure how; I only knew it in theory. I suppose it's like giving a jump-start into forcing someone's body to heal itself."

"And it was your first time?" Louis asks softly.

"I didn't have a choice," Harry replies, somewhat defensively.

"I'm not ungrateful."

They stare at each other for a moment, tension heavy in the air like it always seems to be whenever Harry's really _looking_. "I'm familiar with your mind," he mumbles at last. "I'm guessing that's why it worked."

Louis taps his foot against Harry, catching his eye and smiling gently. "Thanks."

"I couldn't let you die," Harry shrugs, looking over at the cityscape and attempting to repress the turbulent emotions still rattling around in his chest that rise up whenever he thinks about finding Louis. There's been no time to address them. "I've been trying to achieve a full trance for a while. I didn't think I would be able to do it."

"I don't think that's true," Louis says. "You would have failed if you did."

It sounds like something Nick could have told him, or even Harry himself, and he has no argument. Maybe he did know. Maybe he wasn't brave enough to doubt it.

"You'll make a good Jedi, one day," he says.

"Really?"

"Yes, when the time is right."

"You mean when the war ends, and we tell them?" Louis presses, bringing Harry out of his thoughts, reminding him just how much of a moral grey area he's been operating in.

"Indeed. When there are less important matters."

"Are you scared that they'll kick you out?"

"That's not really how being part of the Jedi Order works, Louis," Harry intones, but his throat feels tight at the idea of expulsion.

"Well, they're gonna need you," Louis says soberly. "So many have died already, right? And you're a Healer too. They can't afford to let you go."

Harry smiles in spite of himself. "I appreciate your faith in me," he says. "I guess we have to show them that you're worth it, too."

They don't do much for the rest of the day, and Harry finally gets the meditation he's desperately needed for days in the evening. He feels calm afterwards, centred in a way he hasn't been able to achieve since the battle. Louis' still on the couch when he's done, as if he's afraid of what will happen if he moves.

"Would you mind …" Harry says carefully, a little uncertain. "Would you like to join me? Just for sleep, I mean."

Louis takes a moment, eyes widening in surprise. He doesn't immediately answer, giving Harry just enough time to feel self-conscious and consider backing into his room without another word to spare Louis' awkward rejection. But then Louis' standing up, walking over to him with a soft smile, and the part of Harry's mind that Louis has made claim to is warm, gaining heat as he gets closer.

He doesn't reply, so Harry turns and enters the room, turning the lights out so he can slip out of his clothes without feeling too exposed. Louis does the same and Harry lifts the covers for him, leaving a few inches of space between their bodies as he settles on his back.

He isn't ready for _that_ , and Louis seems to understand, but he doesn't want him on the other side of the flat. He wants to be able to hear his breaths, the soft rustling as he shifts under the sheets, and to know that he'll be there when Harry wakes up.

He feels more willing to accept their connection, to see it as an intentional extension of the Force, allowing them both to feel stronger in their endeavours.

"You're thinking so loud," Louis whispers jokingly, a pleasant rasp in his voice making Harry smile up at the ceiling. "I thought you meditated so you could stop?"

"Maybe you need to learn how to stop intruding on other's introspection," Harry reminds him, and any anxiety he might have felt for the situation slips away with Louis' laugh.

"I can't actually read your thoughts." Harry turns his head towards him, able to make out his gleaming eyes in the dark. "But you seem better than before."

"I am," Harry confirms softly.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" His voice comes out weaker this time, slightly brittle, and Harry can tell he doesn't want it to be. He doubts it matters at this point, the inevitability of it becoming clearer and clearer in his mind as he looks at him.

"No," he tells him, mostly to be nice, but he doesn't think he wants it to be either. "Go to sleep now, Lou."

***

The following weeks feel like another waiting game. The war rages on, the Outer Rim sieges continuing where they left off, and Grievous remains hidden. Harry gets little information from briefings and conversations with his colleagues, the work to restore the damage of the battle seemingly endless.

Louis stays in the flat and trains alone, as Harry's never home long enough to see him for more than a few hours before bedtime. They spend them in quiet company, watching the news with their dinner in front of the screen. Harry isn't sure what he's waiting for, but it feels like something bigger than the end of the war.

The inches between him and Louis when they go to bed start getting shorter, and it's beginning to feel more natural to take up space on the same side of the couch when he comes to sit down. Whatever reservations he ever had about letting someone get this close to him seem to fade into the background, drowned out by the way he's begun to predict Louis' complaints about being cold, aware that they're a thinly veiled plan to get Harry to shuffle closer. And really, how is this much different than before? If anything, Harry's abilities in the Halls are only getting stronger. He sleeps better, recovers faster from a long day of trying to heal people enough for them to move on, and the rare few times Louis suggests they meditate together when Harry's particularly worked up, he feels like he can go deeper than when Louis is elsewhere in the flat, waiting for him to return.

But the reality of war is ever present, and when Harry gets assigned somebody in critical condition one evening, he loses them after several hours of urgent guided trance healing. He can feel the moment the Jedi rejoins the Force, slipping out of their body, and it leaves him shaken.

Master Che doesn't even need to convince him to go home after that.

It's dark when he gets to the flat, the living room plunged into the artificial flickering light from the Holoscreen, playing mindlessly to a vacant audience. Harry's just about to turn it off and go to bed when the door to the bathroom opens, steam billowing as Louis steps out, wrapped in a towel with his hair pushed back from his face.

Harry doesn't even hesitate as he moves across the room, reaching for the only stable thing in a rapidly unravelling reality, the only thing he has left to trust.

He kisses him, and Louis doesn't ask any questions.

"I want you," Harry confesses, close to his ear with fingers buried in wet strands of hair. "Please."

"Okay," Louis whispers back, soft and calm and inviting. "Anything you want."

"Anything," Harry repeats, eyes closed as Louis kisses him again.

They end up in Harry's room, desperation shaking through his fingers as he tries to get out of his robes, can't quite make them co-operate until Louis takes over quietly, leaving the clothes in a pile by the door.

They don't talk much, Louis guiding Harry onto the bed and kissing him, taking his time. Harry feels like he's drifting, spread out and yielding under Louis' skilful hands and mouth. He doesn't know where he learnt it, and he doesn't want to know, but there's something about his confidence that makes Harry entirely subservient, trusting in a way he's never dared before.

He's not aware enough to understand quite what's happening, only that Louis' straddling his hips, touching him, placing gentle kisses across his skin. He sinks down suddenly, all the way until Harry's inside him and he's not sure how they got to this, only that he's never felt closer, like Louis' entered his mind at the same pace that Harry entered his body.

When Louis starts moving, his breath filling the room with soft sounds, it's all Harry can do to reach out with the hand that hasn't tangled with Louis', wrapping his fingers around the soft swell of his hip tightly. Louis looks like a classic piece of art, silhouetted by the blues and greens from the Holoscreen in the living room. Harry can't breathe, can't even think beyond the heat between them, the reliable shift of the muscles in Louis' thighs as he lifts himself over and over. He doesn't know if the pleasure is his or Louis', if his thoughts are really his own, but it makes no difference as they're moving as one now, even more so than when they spar.

Louis shifts slightly, changing the angle, and pleasure rolls over them like Harry's never felt before, deep and heavy, something pulling at his gut, blossoming like bloodstains on white linen. He thinks they're talking to each other, whispered promises and soft confessions, but he's not sure if it's spoken out loud, if they're words at all or something else entirely. He's watching himself from outside, watching Louis, not sure where one ends and the other begins, until Louis squeezes his hand so hard he's forced back, only to catch the full blow of their orgasm, drowning out the universe, silencing the stars.

He's not sure what happens after, how long it takes for awareness to settle back in. But Louis is still there, brushing his fringe back and smoothing hands over his skin. Harry's so sensitive, his body feels overwhelmed and heavy, hot where Louis rests against him, but the tension that had been permanently lodged in his shoulders has loosened, a sense of clarity, finally, in his defeat.

"I didn't know it could be like that," Louis says beside him, head resting softly on Harry's chest.

"I don't think it is, generally," Harry replies, thinking of Nick, and whether he had any idea what he was getting Harry into.

"It isn't," Louis informs him. "Not even when it's good."

Harry doesn't like to think about Louis and other people, good or bad, even if it couldn't possibly compare.

"Why now?" Louis murmurs after a moment, his hand tracing circles on Harry's chest.

Harry closes his eyes, already feeling the weight settling back into his chest, sharp and heavy.

"Because I'm not sure it matters anymore," he confesses. "They keep telling us the war is almost over, we just need to find Grievous and the Separatist militia will be disbanded, they've have no way to orchestrate attacks. But I think there's more to it than that. What if the war we're fighting isn't against the Separatists?"

"What do you mean?" Louis frowns, propping himself up on an elbow.

"I don't think Grievous is pulling the strings," Harry says slowly. "I'm sure the Council knows this. The dark side is still growing stronger every day, yet Dooku is dead. He's not the Sith Lord we've been looking for."

"So who is?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Grandmaster Yoda has left to assist on Kashyyk and we're no closer to victory than we were at the start of this war."

"Yoda's gone?" Louis repeats, as if he can sense the gravity of the statement. Perhaps he can, considering how he was deep inside Harry's mind only minutes ago.

"Yoda never leaves," Harry breathes, and it isn't like he's even interacted with Yoda since he was a youngling in his classes, but he feels so vulnerable at the knowledge, has felt it echoed in others. "We're all overworked and overwhelmed, but nobody is talking about it. Because we can't change it. I can't change anything. I can barely even save people any more."

Louis doesn't say anything. He looks at Harry's face, a small frown between his eyebrows, as he splays fingers over his chest, still tucked close and hot against Harry's skin.

"I did it because I wanted to," Harry tells him quietly. "I think I've wanted to all along."

"You're human," Louis replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up almost as if in spite of himself.

"Will you stay?" He's not sure what he means by it, and he doesn't think Louis does either, but he's nodding, settling down again with his head on Harry's chest, the answer to a question neither of them knows how to ask.

***

People keep dying in the Halls, and Harry keeps doing everything he can to stop them, but now, every time he starts feeling like it's too much, he can sense Louis, gently nudging him back to stability, reminding him to take a few moments to collect himself. It doesn't help much in the long term, but it stops him blaming himself too much for people that were already beyond saving in the first place.

Master Che seems to be paying him more attention, but only from afar, largely letting him do his own thing. It's unnerving, because she doesn't comment on it, so Harry puts it down to keeping an eye on his progress, making sure he's using the skills she knows he's been working to build.

It's not until she finally calls him into one of the consultation rooms, asking him to have a seat, that it becomes clear how wrong he was.

"We've received a request from the Council," she starts, giving Harry a levelled look. "We're in the last stages of the war, but we've suffered great losses. Something needs to be done."

Harry tries not to break eye contact, keeping his hands firmly clasped in his lap as he attempts not to jump to conclusions.

"It has been decided that all Knighted Jedi take a Padawan, regardless of their own reservations," she states, and Harry's hopes drop like droids on a battlefield.

"Even the Consulars?"

"Everyone," she confirms. "We need Healers as much as we need Guardians."

"How am I supposed to train a Padawan while I'm trying to heal Jedi?" Harry asks, imagining a youngling bumping into his legs as he tries to cast a healing trance.

"It's not going to be easy. But you have your time off, too. Am I to understand that you still live in the accommodation you share with your Master?"

Harry pauses, thinking of Louis tucked up on the sofa at home.

"I do, yes. But I have come to appreciate the scholarly benefits of a solitary life."

"Maybe you'll have it back after the war. We all have to make sacrifices, Harry."

He blinks, wondering for a moment how she dares speak of sacrifice as if they haven't all lost enough already, but the anger dissipates quickly, replaced by a hollow sense of resignation. He can't argue without giving himself away.

"When?" he says.

"I'll inform you of your options," Vokara replies briskly, rising from her chair, "and I expect you to have made your choice by the end of the week."

Harry doesn't head straight home after his shift, instead taking a detour past the training rooms on the upper level where he watches a clan of younglings being tutored in lightsaber combat, their little faces set deep in concentration. They're all far too young for battle, or to watch their Masters die in front of their eyes as Harry fails to heal them. He doubts they even truly understand the weight of the life that's been chosen for them, if they have yet come to terms with their own mortality at the potential hands of clumsy droids who lack the programming to spare them a second thought.

He watches them until the pain of it becomes too much, and he knows that Louis must be able to sense the turmoil of his emotions. Really, Harry should at least review his options, to know who he is inevitably turning down, but that would only be an exercise in guilt that he can't afford to take on. Even if he did take one on alongside Louis, he could never give them the support an attention they need.

He needs to go home.

"What happened?" is the first thing Louis says when Harry finds him in the bedroom, sat cross-legged on the sheets with his eyes still closed, evidently just coming out of mediation.

"Something I've been putting off for a long time," Harry admits, stopping in the doorway to watch the evening sun play over Louis' bare shoulders.

Louis opens his eyes slowly, posture relaxed in a way Harry envies, and moves himself gracefully off the bed, into Harry's space for just a moment, long enough to press their lips together and take his breath away, still such a new and delicate thing.

They sit around the small kitchen island where most of their big talks seem to take place, with hands wrapped around warm cups and ankles linked under the table. Louis is quiet, giving Harry the time to collect himself until he can finally relay what he's been told.

"I'm so sorry, Lou, but I'll have to tell them," he finishes, reaching for his hand instinctively. Louis doesn't reply at first, fingers lax in Harry's hold, but he can feel his mind working on overdrive behind his shuttered expression.

"We knew this day would come," he murmurs at last. "We knew the risks."

"But it's too soon," Harry argues. "Even if they don't exile me, they're going to take you away, throw you into the war. You're too powerful for them to ignore."

"Harry," Louis says gently, squeezing his fingers. "If war and death is all I have to look forward to, I'll take it any day over the life I had before I met you. This is why you decided to train me, isn't it? So I could help."

"But not _yet_." Harry feels like a child, refusing to accept that his own wants and needs are nothing when weighed against the fate of the entire galaxy. And the worst part is that he understands how irrational that is, how this is exactly what he has been trained to move on from. The hurt when Nick was issued his new post only lasted days, but this doesn't compare.

"But I'm ready," Louis says. "You've got to let me go."

And Harry doesn't know what that means exactly, but later, when Louis takes him to bed, fucking him so excruciatingly slowly that the sun starts to rise before they're done, he thinks it probably doesn't mean for good. That if the war ever comes to an end and if the Force permits them to live through it, perhaps they're bound together in ways they don't yet understand.

They stay with limbs tangled under the covers, watching the sunlight reflect off each other's skin until Harry makes himself leave.

On the way to the Temple, he recalls an early lesson from Master Sinube, about how his lightsaber is both his life and his responsibility. They're words he lived by for a long time, but now, those words seem to have become tied to Louis, instead.

Master Che doesn't disturb him all day, and even removes herself from the Halls for some time. One of the other young Healers asks if Harry's been designated a Padawan yet, and it seems this is one of the last few days they'll have to work in peace before they all take on a task none of them feel prepared for.

He falls asleep in his break, returning far later than he should have, disorientated and guilty, but no one says anything. The Halls are strangely eerie despite being filled with patients as always, a silence having fallen that doesn't seem any more natural than the mixed shades of blood layered on Harry's hands as he tries to treat the newly arrived. To make up for his mistake, he stays longer than he has to, the sun already close to setting as Master Che comes back, giving Harry a chance to talk to her.

"I was hoping to have a word with Master Windu," he tells her quietly, unwilling to disturb the strange tension that's settled around them. "Do you know where I could find him?"

"Master Windu has left the Temple," she replies flatly. "What is so important that you may seek him out?"

"He's left?" Harry says dumbly, feeling all the air leave him in a rush. "Why?"

"I don't know, but the guards have been alerted."

"Are we expecting an attack?"

"I haven't been informed," she replies tersely. "But I assume your issue with Master Windu can wait until he returns."

"Of course," Harry agrees absently, already trying to de-construct Master Che's words into something that makes sense. There must have been a really good reason for Windu to have left, but he can't think of one that would justify leaving the Temple so vulnerable, with no one in charge.

He goes back to his post, trying to ease the guilt-infused anxiety in his chest. There seems to be a collective struggle to achieve full concentration, with Harry catching his peers massaging their temples and talking in hushed tones about some sort of block in their connection to the Force. It could be collective stress enhanced, each of them soaking up each other's strain and magnifying it, but Harry feels like this is different, that the problem is not them, but rather external, within the Force itself.

When something finally happens, it's between one heartbeat and the next, the world tipping on its axis, darkness descending like a great spaceship, leaving them all blind and helpless in its wake. It's like the stars themselves have burnt out, like the millions of life forms across the galaxy have all lost their voices at once, a terrible silence falling in their place.

When Harry looks up, he can see his own fear reflected in the faces around him.

"What's happening?" he demands, as if someone will just give him the answers if he speaks loudly enough.

The Healers are gripping anything within reach, like it will ground them and protect them. The wounded Jedi are all showing various signs of distress, but Harry can't help any of them. He could read hundreds of guides and never heal this.

Trying to feel through the Force is like the thickest exhaust clouds at midnight, and he knows that Louis is on the other side, distantly trying to reach out to him too, but they may as well barely have a bond in place for all the good it does.

After so long of having Louis as a warm presence in his mind, the absence feels alarmingly like the cold silence of death.

"Master Che!" Harry calls, his own voice the only thing in the vast chamber that seems to carry any weight as he strides down the ward with nothing but sheer will driving him.

"I don't know, Harry," her voice comes from the end of the line, her face set as Harry reaches her.

"Where did Master Windu go?"

"I don't know that either."

Harry closes his eyes, searching the Force for some kind of answer, but finds nothing. It's far too dark, still. "I've got to go," he says quietly.

"We could use your strength," Vokara answers him unexpectedly, and Harry looks at her for a moment, seeing tired eyes and a tired heart, too proud for surrender.

"I'll come back," Harry promises. "As soon as I can."

There's guilt coursing through his veins as he climbs into the speeder. Perhaps he can reach Louis fast, and they can both come back to the Halls. There are bigger things at risk than a single Healer harbouring a secret Padawan. He can deal with consequences another time.

Coruscant is unchanged, still recovering from the battle but operating as ever. The highways are a carefully calculated anarchy, and it seems that the majority of the planet haven't become aware that something monumental has happened. The contrast to his own mind takes up enough of his attention that he's running the short distance from the hangar to the flat before he fully acknowledges docking.

“Louis!” Harry calls the moment the door slides open, revealing a semi-dark flat with most of the light sources coming from outside, reflected through the big windows. Louis' leaning against one of them, gazing out, but turns his head when Harry comes striding in.

“Harry,” he breathes, falling helplessly into Harry's arms as if he can't quite carry his own weight. Harry recognises the feeling.

“You're okay,” he tries, even if he doesn't know if that's true.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. Nobody knows. We've got to get back to the Temple.”

Louis' shivering against him, and despite being pressed skin to skin, Harry can't hear him in his mind. The silence is deafening.

“It'll blow our cover.”

“I don't think it matters anymore,” Harry answers truthfully. “I think this might be the end.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when the Force seems to shift around them again, but this time it's different. This time it feels like voices crying out, just a few at first but soon joined by what seems to be hundreds of them, thousands, their fear and pain overlapping and reverberating through Harry's bones until he's gasping, watching Louis fall to his knees in front of him, helpless as the screams tear through him.

“Louis," Harry says, trying to find his voice. "Louis, look at me. You've got to breathe. Louis …"

Louis turns to him, but can't seem to make their eyes meet, seeing something beyond where they are, and Harry has to reach out, shaking as he finds Louis' hands in the darkness.

"Louis, you've got to focus," he instructs, trying to follow his own orders and slowly dim the pain echoing through the Force. "You'll hurt yourself if you let it all in."

"We have to help them," Louis whispers, but Harry knows it's far too late for that already.

"Just hold on," Harry murmurs, finding himself on the floor too, reaching for Louis in a weak attempt at comfort. "Hold on …"

***

There's a beeping sound coming from somewhere close by. Harry opens his eyes, and realises he's still on the floor, with Louis pressed to his chest like a small animal. He doesn't know how much time has passed, if any at all, but the beeping continues, the familiar sound announcing an incoming message on his transceiver.

"Louis," he mumbles, the echoes of voices silenced too soon still ringing in his ears, the pain somewhat dulled as he tries to feel the Force around them. It's damaged, he realises. Torn in places he didn't think it could break, perhaps irreparably.

"What's that sound?" Louis mumbles, lifting his head to look around slowly.

"Let me check," Harry says, fumbling with his belt where the transceiver is attached, bringing up the alert message that had been trying to claim their attention. It's an instruction, calling all surviving Jedi to immediately return to the Temple.

"Haz," Louis says weakly, squinting out into the night. "I don't think that message is right."

The Temple, distantly visible from their window in the artificial light of the city, is up in smoke. Harry can feel his breath catch, even as he reaches out for the Halls, tries to reach Master Che, any of his colleagues, even the patients he formed short-term bonds with for trances. The answering silence hits harder than anything else has, with just a few of those desperate voices now having names to them.

"It's a trap," Harry breathes, staring at the plumes of dark smoke that's only just visible against the backdrop of the night sky.

"Set by who?" Louis asks, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, like he's trying to hold himself together by sheer will.

"The Sith Lord," Harry mumbles, the realisation washing over him like a wave of nausea.

"But how?" Louis whispers. "I don't understand."

Harry doesn't answer. His mind is racing as fast as his heart, and all he can think of doing is turning on the Holonet, hoping that maybe there'll be something on there to give them some sort of idea.

But the news gives no indication to what's happening outside their window, or to the fear he can feel just beyond his carefully built shields. There's no new reports, just the same old war stories, action dramas depicting the war in a fictionalised way. The Senate announcements and war-specific channels still contain nothing but vague information regarding the Outer Rim sieges.

Harry gives up once he's been through all the stations, feeling too disjointed at the enthusiastic music on an advertisement that contrasts his laboured breathing. He mutes the screen, letting the synthetic light bathe the room, and drops onto the sofa.

They spend hours like that, too apathetic to speak much, but Louis shuffles over to the couch at some point and Harry uses their physical proximity to try to recover their bond in the Force. It's slow work, but worth it when he feels Louis' consciousness start to stir alongside his own.

The sun rises, and smoke is still billowing from the Temple.

Finally, something happens on the Holoscreen: an emergency broadcast from the Senate across all channels.

Chancellor Palpatine is addressing the Republic representatives, the camera panning around to show all the attendees before coming back to rest on his extended platform in the centre as he talks. The raised hood of his cloak does nothing to hide the bizarre scarring across his face, like nothing Harry has encountered in the Halls or study books before, but it's his eyes that catch him off guard. All Jedi are taught from a young age to watch out for the sickly yellow colour that can only come from recent interaction with the dark side's influence.

"Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple, and quelled uprisings on a thousand worlds," Palpatine assures the Senate, and Harry's eyes drift back to the rising smoke across the city, belated grief crashing through him in waves. "The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated."

The Senate erupts with sound, cheers echoing in the council chamber and filling the flat as the Republic rejoice in the face of mass slaughter.

Harry looks over at Louis, watching the realisation play out on his face as he listens in silent concentration to Chancellor Palpatine's lies. “It's him,” he says then, looking back at Harry with something akin to horror in his startling eyes, “isn't it?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms, turning back to the screen, betrayal stinging deep in his gut at the people he had helped, some he had called friends.

“In order to ensure our security and continuing stability,” Palpatine is saying, “the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire!”

The applause this time is thunderous. Harry can't stand it. He gets to his feet and turns the screen off, but there's a beeping coming from his transceiver again – another alert message from the Temple.

“It's telling us to stay away,” Harry mumbles, frowning at the letters. “Someone's changed the message.”

“You mean a Jedi's at the Temple?” Louis asks, and Harry feels like he's slowly waking up from a fever dream, blinking against the sudden light.

“We've got to go there,” he says urgently. “If there's even one Jedi alive … Maybe there's something we can do.”

“We sure as hell can't stay here,” Louis agrees, something like resolve flashing in his eyes, and Harry knows it's a long shot, but it's also their only chance.

The Temple is in ruins. Smoke is still billowing from the roof though the fire itself seems to have died down. Dead clone troopers that they all trusted are littering the ground outside, and Harry tries not to see the Jedi, adults and youngling alike, lying lifeless and defeated amongst the white armours. He steers away from the Halls, nausea rising up consistently each time he recognises someone. The air is thick with the Force, swelling to accommodate so many returning to it before their time, moving around them like an invisible fog. Harry tries reaching out to sense any living Jedi still nearby, and they both keep their lightsabers in a tight grasp, conscious that there is a chance this is another trick, that more clones are waiting to catch anyone foolish enough to have returned.

But finally, after what feels like hours with only the sounds of the Temple falling apart to keep them company, Harry feels a strong presence pulling him towards the Archives.

He's not prepared at all, and yet, it only makes sense, that it should be Grandmaster Yoda coming towards them, small and ancient and infinitely powerful as he looks at them with kind eyes.

"Master Yoda …" Harry breathes, feeling Louis grip at his arm tightly.

"Harry Styles," Yoda bows his head, and Harry can't believe that Yoda not only remembers his name, but is actually bowing to him, when it should surely be the other way around. Louis is silent beside him, as if by not moving he can avoid drawing attention to himself. "I see you have brought your Padawan with you once again to what remains of our Temple."

"I'm –" Harry falters, and it shouldn't be a surprise that Yoda is somehow aware of their actions, but he hadn't expected to have to handle it like this. He wanted to be systematic, to explain his reasoning and then request any reprimanding that the Council saw fit, not be made to feel small and young by a creature not even three feet in height.

"It isn't his fault, he was only trying to help me," Louis cuts in, his voice wavering but expression earnest. "Besides, you really can't afford to turn down help at the moment, can you?"

"I wish we had the luxury," Yoda replies seriously. "Nothing left to be done now, there is."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks. "Who did this? Please, if there's anything we can do …"

"Hide, young Harry," Yoda tells him. "Take your friend and go, while there is still time."

"Who did this?" Louis repeats. "I get that Palpatine has gone dark side and thinks he's in charge of the galaxy, but he couldn't have attacked the Temple alone, could he?"

"Louis …" Harry says warningly, but Yoda doesn't seem offended my his straightforwardness.

"Powerful, he has become," he says vaguely. "Lost, he may be."

"Who?" Louis presses.

"Take a ship and leave," Yoda instructs, as if he didn't hear the question. "Hope, there is, still."

He turns and hobbles off down the corridor, leaving Harry to watch with a sinking feeling of despair.

"Where are the big hangar bays?" Louis asks after a moment that feels far too still, pulling Harry from thoughts of the life they had, and the Jedi so recently lost. "We need something that isn't branded with the Order, or even the Republic, if we can. Maybe swap ships or strip the paint when we get far enough."

"I can't fly," Harry says tonelessly. "Not without a droid."

"Well, I can," Louis shrugs. "I'm from Abafar, remember? Nothing else to do. I might have become a pilot if I hadn't been so desperate to leave."

Harry looks at him for a long moment, a strange sense of complete disorientation settling over him before he leans in and presses his lips to Louis', hands coming up to hold his face, to _feel_ the strength and courage there, underneath his fingertips.

"Come on," he mumbles when they pull apart. "It's this way. We need to contact Nick."

"Do you think he's still alive?"

"No way of knowing," Harry admits, as they both take off at a run down the corridor.

There's a small fleet of Consular Class cruisers towards the back of the hangar bay, originally intended for both Jedi and Senate Ambassadors to travel between Republic planets. Louis goes ahead, checking if two people can pilot it and what rations are on board, while Harry disables the alarms, giving them the best head start possible. It's still dizzying, the knowledge that he's become a fugitive in the Temple he swore to protect. Yesterday feels like centuries ago, and he's had no premonitions to even hint at what their future might entail. Not with the darkness growing unrestrained for so long.

Louis' already settled in the cockpit when Harry gets on board, soothed by the consistent familiarity all these class ships have given him over the years. "You're my co-pilot," Louis states, waking the ship up, and he seems so much more confident than Harry feels. He straps himself in, reaching for Louis' mind, and holding on as best as he can with the Force still in turbulence.

“Okay,” he says with a deep breath. “I'm ready.”

How they manage to escape Couruscant, Harry doesn't know. Louis' shouting instructions at him, his body responding automatically, but he feels altogether removed from the moment, turning over the last few hours in his head and trying desperately to clear away the rising emotions jostling for attention. Louis' presence is growing stronger the further away the get, and Harry isn't sure he could have held it together without him, not while he can still feel uncountable Jedi rejoining the Force. It's a small mercy that, by leaving the Temple, they've left the thick smog of grieving finality that filled the halls.

“Doesn't look like anyone's following us,” Louis mutters at some point, when he's stopped telling Harry what to do, presumably because he doesn't need him to help fly the ship any more.

“I doubt Palpatine had his eyes on the Temple,” Harry answers him tiredly, pulling his transceiver from his belt. “The clones were supposed to kill any returning Jedi.”

“I'm keeping the shields up nevertheless,” Louis says darkly. “We need a location.”

“Working on it.”

It takes several seconds, working up the courage to press the outgoing controls to reach Nick. There's a vague worry that the coded transmission flowing via the Temple may give away their locations, should anyone care to try, but Harry's mostly scared that there won't be anyone to answer, or someone will, long enough to tell him it's too late. He could have missed Nick's own passing amongst the others, their bond clouded by the sudden uprising of the dark side.

The connection takes longer to go through, their haste to leave the Coruscant system making the signal weaker than usual. Harry's own anxiety is reaching new highs by the time the hologram fizzles up, taking a few seconds to come into focus.

“Harry?”

“Nick!” Harry stares at the flickering image of Nick in front of him, looking uninjured for all he can see, and has to close his eyes for a second to collect himself.

“What's happening?”

“How much do you know?”

“I've been informed of the message from the Senate,” Nick answers urgently. “And I felt the disturbance, the deaths. How bad is it?”

“The Temple has been destroyed,” Harry informs him numbly. “Yoda is alive but the clones turned, Nick. They've killed Jedi all over the Galaxy. And I think –” he takes another breath, examining his feelings quickly to make sure he's come to the right conclusion before stating, “I think Anakin Skywalker has turned to the dark side.”

Louis gives him a look but doesn't comment. Nick nods slowly, watching him. "I think you're right. It would seem the prophecy was wrong."

"Or Qui-Gon was too hopeful."

"At least he never had to see what came of his belief."

It's easier, talking around the topic like this rather than facing the fact that the Jedi are now endangered fugitives. But Harry needs to press on, can feel Louis nudging him for answers unobtrusively. "Where are you? We're going to change ships as soon as we reach a big enough space station, to stay under the radar."

“Generis,” Nick tells him, “in the Atrivis system. I've spent the last six months trying to convince its leaders to join the Republic, without much success, I admit, but it seems my mission was futile, in the end.”

“Is it safe?” Harry asks him, watching Louis scan a digital map of the Galaxy, looking for the planet.

“For now,” Nick says, grimly.

“We'll come find you,” Harry promises then, feeling relief and a small sense of hope wash over him like a tidal wave. “Stay safe until we get there.”

“It seems the Force is still with us,” Nick says solemnly. “May it be with you on your journey.”

The call disconnects, and Harry slumps back in his seat, eyes fluttering shut, and maybe it's just the exhaustion making him slightly delirious, the long hours in the Halls, the adrenaline and hope and love festering in his heart, but he suddenly feels peaceful, like a veil being pulled from his eyes as the Force slowly reassembles itself inside and around them.

“Ashla …” he mumbles reverently, slowly opening his eyes.

"What's that?" Louis asks absently, sifting through layers of increasingly detailed star maps.

Harry pauses, torn between holding the intimate feeling close, and sharing it, unsure how to even begin describing the calming energy flowing through his veins.

"I understand," he starts, observing how inseparably connected the universe is on Louis' mapping system, how everything ties into itself and binds life all together. "The Force led me to you, and in turn, you saved me from the same fate as my peers. I was supposed to take you on as my apprentice, so that I could continue on my journey, whatever that may be. This isn't the end, Louis."

Louis looks up from the control panel, his eyes as unwavering and sharp as they had been on the day they met. “You believe that?”

“The Force lays down paths for all of us,” Harry says, and he does believe it, more than he ever has.

“Then lets follow it,” Louis grins, and puts them into hyperdrive.

 


	2. Thirty Years Later

The ship is quiet, the only sound being the gentle humming of the engines, and the occasional word drifting towards Harry from the back where Nick and Master Bunetta had engaged the younglings in a game of Holochess to keep them preoccupied for the remainder of the journey. Louis' sat next to him, watching the controls absently but mostly just gazing into space, lost in thought. Harry studies his features for a moment, the lines etched there by time and hardship, the grey hairs mixed in with the brown, and his eyes, patient and kind now, despite it all. He almost can't believe they've made it this far.

It's been a long time since they fled the Temple, all those years ago, leaving behind everything they knew for a life rid of all direction, forced to keep their powers and beliefs a secret in fear of prosecution by the Empire. Harry had been crushed by grief, suffering worse than even Nick and Master Bunetta, who'd been too far away from everything to really understand what it had been like. Louis had been the only reason Harry had got through it, getting them involved in the Atrivis Resistance Group, finding them a new purpose, and later – convincing Harry to find and train several force-sensitive children who's families hadn't survived the Galactic Civil War.

The first force sensitive child to come into their care had been Niall, from one of the Twi'lek communities on Generis. Harry had been a regular visitor to their village, particularly keen to learn the customs and culture. He had struggled significantly with no longer having Vokara Che's teachings to guide him, and the Twi'lek people had helped him grieve through their customs until he felt closer to her than before. Niall sought them out on his own, seemingly by instinct, after the death of his parents at the hands of the enemy. Without Niall starting Harry on the course of rediscovering how much enjoyment could come of teaching younglings, they may not have found Liam and Zayn later on.

As if sensing that Harry had just been thinking about him, Niall comes shuffling out from the back of the ship, pulling at Harry's robes in a familiar fashion. Harry lifts him onto his lap, allowing the youngling to see the view before them.

“Are we there yet?” Niall asks, leaning closer to the window, and Harry points towards a small, blue planet that's just appeared in the distance.

“See that?” he murmurs. “That's our new home.”

He can sense Niall's excitement, letting it wash over him and bleed into his own mind for comfort.

“And there will be other ones like me there?” Niall goes on, voice rising in pitch.

“I don't know about Twi'leks,” Harry admits, “but there will be other Jedi children, yes.”

Niall's enthusiasm bubbles over, infectious in its purity, and Harry shifts him a little closer to seek out the unfiltered joy that seems to be his core emotion.

Nick shouts in disgust, probably because Liam and Zayn teamed up to outwit his side of the board again, and Niall starts squirming in an attempt to see the pieces shatter each other into pixels.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," Harry reminds him, and Niall calms down, short attention caught on the planet again.

"We should be there in less than an hour," Louis states, twisting in his chair to rest his socked feet on Niall's lap just to hear the screeches of laughter. He looks content, and Harry can sense how proud he is of managing to get their little group – their family – safely to Yavin IV without any stress.

"Maybe it's time to start the dreaded event of getting everybody presentable and cleaned up if we want to be ready to go as soon as we land."

"Are you sure it's safe?" comes Liam's voice from behind them, Zayn stood by his side. They're both human, both around the age when a Master would have picked them as Padawans, and Harry has no doubt that they would have been picked. No doubt at all.

"You tell me," he says, leaning back in his seat. "What can you feel?"

Liam looks uncertain for a moment. Then, he closes his eyes in concentration, and Harry exchanges a pleased look with Louis, waiting.

"There's many of them," Liam says as last.

"Yes," Harry agrees, smiling, and for the first time in decades, the empty spaces in his mind don't feel quite so empty anymore.

They land outside the temple that had once been a Rebellion base, before the battle of Yavin and before the Empire fell. In size, it doesn't compare to the Temple Harry grew up in, the place he'd called his home, but it doesn't matter, he thinks, as they step out into the brilliant sunlight, hoods pulled back from their faces. It doesn't matter that there's barely enough of them to be called an Order, or that most of the old knowledge was buried forever in the ruins on Coruscant. It doesn't even matter that the one who made it all possible, who finally brought balance to the Force, is the son of Anakin Skywalker himself. The Force doesn't make mistakes, after all.

The gate opens, and Niall lets go of Harry's hand, taking off at a run.

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://evelynegrey.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://genderqueerharrystyles.tumblr.com/


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